


My Sincerest Apologies

by LanxBorealis



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Body Horror, Cannibalism, Dark, Don't read if your squeamish, Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, Gore, Other, Psychological Horror, Violence, highly detailed torture, like hella dark, lots of death, please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanxBorealis/pseuds/LanxBorealis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There really was no escape, was there? Not from her past and not from her future. The bodies, the gore, the “I'M SORRY” written out at every crime...it all converged into this.</p><p> Sometimes, the truth is better left unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is This the Real Life?

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Gr brx wklqn hyhub vwrub kdv d kdssb hqglqj?_

~~0~~0~~0~~

"Please don't do this."  
  
"Angel, you know I have to."  
  
"Yesss, he must, he must!"  
  
"No, you do not. Please, I beg of you. You know you will regret this. You know you will. Please, don't do this."  
  
"Shut it! Shut it! Shut it! Don't listen to her! Listen to me! Me! You want to do it, you know you do! So do it!"  
  
"I-I... I don't know...I mean..."  
  
"Please don't..."  
  
"Do it _now._ You know you want to. We both do. _She_ knows it too. She's trying to hold you back again."  
  
"Please! Listen to me! Don't! I beg of you, don't!"  
  
"...I have no choice, do I?"  
  
"There's always a choice."  
  
"Free will is an illusion."

"I know."  
  
He stabbed the knife downward.

~~0~~0~~0~~ 

"Another one?!"

“I'm afraid so.”  
  
"That makes up a total of fourteen different murders all across the country, second one in Nebraska. We still don't have a lead on this guy and he's probably already in a different state.”  
  
"Sorry, Detective."  
  
Wendy Corduroy, long time detective, scowled at the man before her, mind working a mile a minute. It's been a year, an entire year since she agreed to this case and started tracking this guy down. But over those three hundred and sixty five days, nothing had changed. As it always happened, it seemed. After crossing six state lines, following a trail of blood and gore and “I'M SORRY” written out, she was tired. Tired with this case, tired of people dying.  
  
"This guy...is like nothing I've ever seen. I mean, you have your murders and your rapists and even your normal serial killers. But this? This is _twisted_."  
  
"I know." The redhead moaned. The woman bent over the documents before her, flipping through the pages once again for what seems like the hundredth time, trying to find connections, trying to find clues, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.  
  
Page after page she flipped through victims and their crime scenes. Even after all this time, looking at the photos caused a knot to tighten in her stomach.  
  
There _had_ to be some correlation, some sort of pattern to this senseless. There always was, after all. At least, normally.  
  
But this guy...he wasn't normal. Not by a long shot.  
  
But she had to find _something_.  
  
"-duroy?"  
  
"Hmm?” She answered, not looking up at the cop.  
  
"I'm going home for the night. You should too. I assume you'll be leaving early in the morning; you'll need your sleep."  
  
"Yeah...I'll make sure of that." The redhead replied, bitter nostalgia taking her up.  
  
The man bowed out.  
  
Wendy sighed, letting the documents drop back onto the table, rubbing a hand across her face.  
  
Leaning back in her chair, the woman slowly slid her other hand under her jacket, retrieving something that always calmed her and reminded her of what she was doing in the first place.  
  
A battered journal with a three written inside a golden hand print.

~~0~~0~~0~~ 

He could never keep track of how many times he stabbed downward. Or swung downward. Or cut.  
  
It was hard to keep track of a lot of things nowadays.  
  
With every swing of the knife, every soundless sob that echoed around his _friend_ , every wet noise that came from metal forcing flesh apart and letting red run free, he felt...  
  
Not better.  
  
But not worse either.  
  
He didn't feel all that much anymore though, so that fact was hardly surprising.

But during these times, at least there was _something._  
  
"Yes. _Yes!_ You're so good at this, has anyone ever told you that? So good. And doesn't it make you feel better?"  
  
"Yes." He lied.  
  
"That's another thing I like about you, you always keep it short and simple, well nowadays at least. Before you always-"  
  
His voice was cut off by a large spray of blood from the friend below him. The knife had split the friend open chest to sternum, stopping before the stomach. Shiny bone peeked out between the bloody folds of flesh.  
  
"Beautiful. Simply beautiful. You always create the best art."  
  
He grunted in response.  
  
The Angel cried.

~~0~~0~~0~~ 

They were sitting.  
  
Laughing.  
  
On the right was a warm girl, clad in a playful sweater, grinning with a metal filled mouth. Her soft brown eyes sparkled as she let another pine cone fly, hitting the edge of the target on a large, plastic totem pole.  
  
To her left was the girl's twin.  
  
The two were as similar as they were different.  
  
Like his sister, he had a large smile dancing across his face, skin pulled tight. Despite the heavy bags that hung under his eyes perpetually, he still had a certain cheer about him. Gripping a pink can, the boy joyfully sipped on his Pitt Cola while watching the pine cones fly with tired but warm eyes.  
  
Hey turned to her and cracked a small joke, eyes crinkling.  
  
Despite the corniness of it all, she laughed; a loud and clear noise that rang, bouncing off the intimidating pines that surrounded them. It was a pure noise, born of hot summers, cold ice cream, and good friends. Filled with love and no expectations of what the future may hold.  
  
The two twins laughed along, their own distinctive vocals echoing with her, blending and clashing into a glorious sound that couldn't be recreated.  
  
She stared up at the sky, red strands frolicking in her vision, staring up at the deepening ocean blue of the the streaks of orange, and the splashes of a rich blood red.  
  
The laughter was cut off.  
  
Wendy woke with a screaming sob.

~~0~~0~~0~~

_L gr._

~~0~~0~~0~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for clicking on and reading the first chapter of this fic! I'm really excited to write and post it and I really do hope all of you guys like it.
> 
> This is my first M rated story, so I'm a bit nervous on how well I'm doing. Constructive criticism would be great and very helpful if anyone has any yet!
> 
> I am aware how short this chapter is. The first two chapters will be the shortest, but the others will be much longer, so don't worry.
> 
> Though there is no gore or violence right now, there will be. If you are squeamish, I suggest you NOT read this. Tags are there for a reason!
> 
> Okay, I only have two major things to say, really before ending this A/N. For one, I won't be answering any questions pertaining to the plot. This is a mystery and all questions will be answered in the story. I promise.
> 
> Secondly, please solve the beginning and ending ciphers!
> 
> They are important to the story and are easy to solve. There really is no excuse. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter! I'll be updating once a week, so I'll see you guys next time!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Is This Just Fantasy?

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Kh kdg vhw lq wkh Zhvw_

~~0~~0~~0~~

The fifteenth body was found in an alley behind a bar in Wyoming.

The killer had hopped over state lines again. As expected. If there was one pattern that she'd found, it was that the killer only killed two people per state.

Wendy cursed angrily as she stared at the scene, local cops behind her staring at the display in horror.

She heard someone distinctively vomit.

The redhead grimaced, recalling the similar reaction when she had seen the first scene back in New York.

The fifteenth was just like the first, yet radically different at the same time.

The chest and sternum were split open wide, flesh peeled back and held by nails. The man- Hayden Miles- had a look of horror on his face, the only thing clean in the sea of red.

Stepping closer to the body left behind, Wendy made sure to breathe through her mouth to avoid the smell she knew was there. Shooing away the flies that were already buzzing around the body, she took a closer look at the corpse, stomach twisting into vile knots.

No matter how many times she'd seen the crime scenes, they still disturbed and sickened her.

She had never wanted this. But she had no choice.

The ribs inside the body had been bent backwards to remove the heart, a gaping black hole left where the organ once pumped.

"Looks like he took it for a trophy." One of the local police mused behind her, hardened voice shaking slightly.

Wendy frowned but shook her head. "No, he doesn't take trophies. It has to be around here some-"

Wendy cut herself off as she stared down the body. At the faint bulge in Hayden Mile's pants, to be exact.

Swallowing thickly, Wendy stepped towards the mans' hips, crouching down. With shaking hands, she undid the belt and slid it off easily enough, dried blood flaking in her fingers.

Biting down her own vile, the woman proceeded to unbutton and unzip the man's pants.

"Can I get some help here?" The red-head snapped to the local police who were just watching her with wide eyes.

The man who had spoken before stepped up, mustache quivering slightly. Crouching on the other side of Hayden Miles, the two lifted the dead mans' hips and slid the jeans down, letting the stained denim pool at the ankles.

Wendy stared at the definite bulge in the man's crotch, knowing  _exactly_  what was there. With a grim look, Wendy grabbed the waist band of the black boxers and yanked them down.

"Oh  _God..._ " The cop next to her whispered, no longer hiding the shivers in his voice. Even without looking at the poor man, the woman knew he was pale as a ghost.

For the heart of Hayden Miles was hollowed out and engulfing his own penis.

~~0~~0~~0~~

"I'm not talking to you."

"Please don't be like that." He begged.

The Angel huffed, turning away from him.

"Ah, just let her be mad! We can have more fun in the meantime~"

"Shut up!" He spat at the Other. He turned back to the Angel.

"Please." He begged.

The Angel knew what would happen if she glanced back, it happened every. Single. Time, after all.

She glanced behind her, staring deep into the tired, soulful eyes that burned with confusion, apathy, and lost.

The Angel couldn't turn away.

Soft, sweet tears traced down her cheeks, her frozen eyes melting at his distress.

"Okay." She murmured. "I will talk to you."

She stared at his smile, a smile too wide that showed too many teeth. A fake smile that was the only truth someone could ever pull from him.

"Thank you."

~~0~~0~~0~~

Wendy sat down at her desk, a half-eaten McDonald's meal sitting next to her while she laid all the documents out once again, trying to find some form of correlation.

Sandra Cher

Omar Pzar

Hillary Smith

David O'Conner

Valerie Elder

Helga Schwarz

Irma Storm

Ruth Maer

Ulysses Mann

Jordyn Tiere

Lindy Lowe

Yancy Love

Harold Cooke

Phoebe Fane

And now Hayden Miles.

Wendy growled, tightening her hands into fists. She had originally thought the pattern to be born of girl-boy-girl-boy but the death of one Helga Schwarz, a tourist from Germany had negated that theory.

It also meant that the killer would go after anyone, American or not.

Wendy sighed as she pulled the file for Schwarz out again, staring at the gruesome picture of the woman. Her fingers had been cut off and crammed one-by-one down her throat. Both her legs had been crushed by something heavy, a hammer, most likely.

Wendy shuddered and put the picture away.

She went over the list again.

And again.

And again.

But there was nothing. Absolutely and positively nothing.

Sighing, Wendy put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands, blinking in exhaustion.

She decided to list off everything she  _did_  know if only to remind herself that she had made  _some_ progress so far.

The killer only killed two people per state.

He started in New York.

He's been traveling in a straight line across the United States.

He was, well, a he. At least, that's what his handwriting seemed to identify with.

Oh, she had almost forgot the most important detail.

'I'M SORRY.' Was written out at every crime. Written in the victim's blood on some surface.

Never carved into the body.

Wendy almost wanted to wonder why.

She didn't let her thoughts wander in that direction.

~~0~~0~~0~~

She found him outside, sitting on the porch.

It was late in the day, the sun slowly sinking into the Earth for it's daily descent.

She wiped sweat off her forehead and carefully lowered herself to sit next to the male half of her favorite duo, watching him warily as he shakily sipped his Pitt Cola.

"Yo." She greeted simply.

He sighed. "Hey Wendy."

A few heartbeats of silence.

"So, whatcha doing out here all alone?" Wendy questioned carefully, eyeing the boy.

He didn't answer her right away. His eyes roamed over the forest, undressing and breaking down the trees with his tired orbs, digging out every dark secret, plunging every conspiracy into light.

For whatever reason, his gaze chilled her.

"Just sitting, I suppose."

The redhead watched him fiddle with an old journal out of the corner of her eye, lightly flicking the pages back and forth, almost in a  _caress_.

For whatever reason, the motion severely disturbed her.

She said nothing as she sat with him, watching the forest as well.

Like many others in her family, Wendy saw the forest as a place of comfort and use. Full of resources as well as it's own particular brand of beauty that could only really be understood by a select few.

However, that was only one side of her.

Her other half, the half that joined her favorite duo on different adventures and monster hunting's, saw the woods as  _creepy_ at the very least or  _highly dangerous and full of death_  at the most.

The woods were full of beauty and use.

Normally.

But Gravity Falls was a place brim with mystery and secrets, where things don't always make sense. Filled with monsters and creatures and magic, awash in insanity, blood, and death.

These woods weren't pretty. The pines didn't look soothing, gently dancing in the wind, but intimidating and cruel.

A cold breeze brushed by her. She shivered in response.

Not looking at her friend next to her, Wendy rose to her feet. "Well, it's about time for me to go. I'll see ya later." She started away.

"Goodbye." A small voice echoed behind her.

Wendy never saw the expression on his face that day.

Nor did she see the page describing a certain triangular dream demon.

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Wkhq kh urvh lq wkh Hdvw_

~~0~~0~~0~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second chapter!
> 
> Just want to let you guys know, this story is now officially completed and edited!
> 
> I want to thank everyone's who's commented so far, bookmarked this already, and those who are subscribed. I'm glad you like my story and I hope you stick around till the end!
> 
> Next chapter will be up relatively soon and will be much longer. As in, more than twice as long.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	3. Caught in a Landslide

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Zh dozdbv kdg vr pxfk ixq..._

~~0~~0~~0~~

"Please." Peter Wund begged. "Please don't do this."

His eyes roamed over the lawyer, dark and hungry.

"You can still save him." The Angel whispered into his ear. "You have the choice. Believe me, I beg of you."

He closed his eyes, fist tightening around the drill he had.

"Stop filling his mind with useless fluff! You've tried this before, over and over and your words are unconvincing now as they were then!"

The Angel scowled at the other. "You're just confusing him! Twisting what he wants, who he  _is_  around!"

"No I'm not. You're just too cowardly to face the truth! Besides, if there is  _anyone_  you should be blaming, it should be-"

He hissed at the two, cutting their bickering off. Eyes narrowed, he flicked the drill on.

Peter Wund stared at the tool in his kidnapper's hand, wide-eyed. Terror courses through the poor lawyer's veins, freezing him. His breathes quickened into hyperventilation. Unable to scream, he could only watch as the crazed man in front of him stepped closer, a slight smile twitching on his lips.

The buzz from the drill echoed around the two, fuzzy but louder than life.

He crouched next to Peter Wund, running one hand over the duck tape he used to tie him up.

Peter Wund whimpered.

"I'm sorry, my friend." His kidnapper whispered. "So sorry. But I have no choice. Free will is an illusion, after all."

A choking sob escaped between Peter Wund's breathes, his mind completely and utterly paralyzed.

The drill was right next to his ear, echoing deafeningly in the cavern.

Peter Wund squeezed his eyes together tightly, ready for agony.

The buzzing stopped.

Peter Wund slowly cracked his eyes open, only to feel two gentle hands wrap duck tape tightly around his mouth, destroying any chance of him screaming out for help.

"I almost forgot about this." His kidnapper murmured thoughtfully.

Peter Wund let out a large, tearful sniff, the only sound he could make.

The drill started up again.

"Let's get back to what we were doing before, hmm?" He said

"Not very chatty tonight, are ya?" The Other said.

He shrugged at the question. "Just not in the mood, really." He replied to it.

Peter Wund stared up at him with horror in his blue eyes.

He lifted the drill up back to Peter Wund's ear and let it snarl while roving his eyes over his friend's body, debating on what to do first.

The drill lowered from his ear, only to hover over his right kneecap. Peter Wund could feel the rapid spin of the nozzle against his dress pants, causing goose flesh to rise.

Tears leaked from Peter Wund's eyes, streaking down the contours of his face before falling on his crisp tux.

His kidnapper held the drill there for, in Peter Wund's opinion, forever.

Then, it pierced his flesh.

The drill cut easily through the nice fabric of his pants and drove into his flesh, grinding it up. Rivets of blood trickled down his leg in time to the small splatters he could feel flying out. His taped bonds going tight, Peter Wund tried to scream out, only to be choked by the tape across his lower jaw, effectively shutting him up just like the kidnapper wanted.

It didn't take long for the spinning metal to meet his bone.

Another, new wave of agony splintered up him as the metal bit deeply into him, chewing up bits of bone. The pain now was unimaginable.

He could hear the heavy breathing of his kidnapper- no, his  _torturer_  in his ear, thick and hot. The breathes beat in time with his heart and the throbs that shook him.

More tears poured from his eyes as his leg heated up from the friction. Unable to move, unable to cry out, Peter Wund could only focus on the drill digging into him. Nearly everything else was a blank to him; completely lost to the poor lawyer.

Peter Wund was nothing but a catalyst for his torturer's twisted ideals and his own dark agony.

Finally, the drill was smoothly removed from his knee, leaving his entire leg tingling, bloody, and strangely cold without the vile friction.

Peter Wund let out a wet sniff from his nose, stomach tying itself into knots. The smell of burning skin, blood, and bone hung in the air, pungent and horrible. Bile bubbled at the back of his throat, scorching his esophagus with it's bitterness.

The drill shut off again.

The silence in the wake of what just happened was paralyzing. The still air pinned him down. Unable to even think, Peter Wund could only lay on the cool ground as his torturer placed the drill down next to him, pulling out a large pair of scissors.

The double blades brushed against Peter Wund's leg, the frigid metal causing every hair to stand up on end. Fresh air brushed against his skin as his dress pants were cut off around his knee.

Peter Wund gasped as he was forced into sitting up, pain sparking through his leg and up his spine, the bones in his knee grinding against one another.

"He thinks it's beautiful. I'm not so sure I agree, though." His torturer said simply, voice apathetic. Glancing up at the unassuming face above him, Peter Wund could clearly see a look of- of  _curiosity_ of all things. Not wanting to see the monster above him, Peter Wund's eyes fell to his knee.

Which was the worst decision Peter Wund had ever made in his life.

His knee was split open, a small black hole was drilled straight down into it. He could clearly see milky white bone shards scattered, slipping down his leg in bright red blood like small stones in a great river.

Bile spilled from where it was festering, filling Peter Wund's mouth with its foul taste. Leaking partially through the tape on his mouth, Peter Wund's lungs gasped for air as his reserves of oxygen trickled away.

His vision going dark around the edges, air hit his lower jaw as the tape was torn away, leaving a prickly sensation. Free of the bond, Peter Wund vomited all over himself, tuna sandwich and can of coke lost forever. Gagging and gasping, he finished up pretty quickly, the stench making him dizzy.

His slight freedom didn't last long, however. Before Peter Wund could even  _think_  about letting out a scream, a new strip of tape was over his mouth, locking him in silence.

He vaguely felt his vomit seeping through his clothing, causing his skin to become sticky.

Peter Wund's half-lidded eyes went up to his torturer again.

Peter Wund expected disgust. He expected his torturer's button nose to be wrinkled up at the scent of his vomit, expected him to be leaning away from him.

But that would be a  _normal_ reaction to someone vomiting all over themselves.

But this man  _wasn't_ normal, Peter Wund thought with a touch of hysteria. Normal people didn't lean forward and stare at the trailing saliva on his chin with rapt attention.

They also didn't kidnap people.

Or drill holes into their knees.

Or talk to people who  _weren't actually there._  
  
Nor did they- did, did t-they...

Peter Wund shrieked around his gag as a finger, glove-less this time, dipped into the hole on his knee, wriggling around slightly. The long, uncut nail scratched against the inside of his bone.

Peter Wund watched as his torturer's eyes fell from his chin to his knee, curious apathy transforming into a fascinated fixation, as if Peter Wund's wounded knee was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

Finally, after a few more scratches and wiggles that made Peter Wund huff through his nose, the only way he could cry out, his torturer removed his now bloody finger, bits of bone stuck under his fingernails.

Peter Wund would vomit if he had anything left in his stomach.

His torturer picked up his drill again and switched it on, causing Peter Wund to flinch violently.

"Of course your already bored." The man said.

A few beats of silence.

His torturer licked his lips. "Of course I can."

Peter Wund wanted to scream at the obviously insane man. Scream and curse and bite and cry.

But he couldn't do anything but stare.

His torturer focused his dark eyes back on him, a genuine, tiny smile graced his features, causing a misplaced look of innocence.

"Well, I guess it's time to finish our...fun up. Thank you, Peter Wund."

The drill started up again. This time, it hovered directly between his eyes. Trying to keep the whirling metal in sights, Peter Wund went cross-eyed.

"Goodbye, my friend."

~~0~~0~~0~~

"Wendy!"

The redhead glanced behind her as a familiar sweater-clad body rammed into her, wrapping her up in a massive, warm hug. The (now) slightly taller girl swung her around wildly, already chatting a mile a minute in her ear.

"Mabel! Mabel! It's great to see you too, but you're crushing my ribs!" Wendy laughed out between gasps.

Mabel giggled excitedly before letting go of her friend and stepping back.

Wendy took a good look at the brunette. Not much had changed for the girl between the ages of twenty and twenty- one. Her shiny brown hair was pulled into a fluffy pony-tail, light make-up brushed across her face to enhance her natural beauty.

Her sweater for the day was purple with a pink hippo stitched onto it, googly eyes glued expertly in place. A single...hoof? Hand? Foot of the hippo was lifted up, balancing a small male ballerina.

"Nice sweater." Wendy commented truthfully. Mabel always had the best sense of humor and fashion.

"Hey, Wendy." A soft voice said behind Mabel.

Wendy's smile grew wider. "Hey Dipper."

Dipper stepped around his sister to also give the redhead a warm hug. Unlike Mabel, however, there was no twirling, no crushing of the ribs. His arms bent around her slightly awkwardly, thin and tense. He held on for a handful of seconds, chin hairs lightly brushing against her forehead before unwinding himself from her and taking a few steps back.

Like his twin, Dipper changed very little over the year. A nervous smile played on his lips and dark bags hung under his eyes. His favorite blue and white hat with a pine tree on it was perched carefully on his head, scruffy from age, covering up equally fluffy hair. Unlike Mabel, who dressed in blooming bright colors, Dipper dressed in muted tints and neutrals; a simple deep blue tee-shirt with khakis and a black jacket balanced on bony shoulders.

"Hey, Wendy." Dipper greeted. "It's great to see you again."

The redhead laughed and stepped foreword to embrace the duo once again in a group hug. "Oh, I really missed you two. College has been a  _nightmare!_ " __  
  
Both twins laughed at her declaration and voiced their own agreements over their education, brown eyes twinkling.

"So I was thinking..." Mabel started up as they all pulled apart.

"That's never good." Dipper quipped with a smirk.

Lightly punching her brother in the shoulder, Mabel continued, "how about we go to Greasy's to catch up? I've missed their pancakes!"

"Mabel, you  _always_ eat pancakes!" Dipper groaned.

"Yeah, but not  _Greasy's!_  They're the best!"

Dipper sighed. "Fair enough." He agreed. "Besides, the diner _is_ probably the best place to eat around here."

Mabel cheered happily. "YES!" She shouted, starting to run around in circles and chanting "pancakes!" Over and over again.

Dipper rolled his eyes.

Wendy laughed.

She had missed her favorite duo.

~~0~~0~~0~~

He lowered his finger into the drink, letting his nail scratch against the ice. It still had minuscule bits of bone stuck under it and blood was still tucked away in his cuticles.

Twirling the finger around, he watched in rapt attention how the liquid became a miniature whirlpool. Condensation dripped down the cold glass, dripping slowly into the dirty wood.

He counted the drips, staring at them with a disturbing intensity.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten...

And so on and so on...

"Why?" A timid voice asked him.

He didn't glance at the Angel. He simply continued stirring his drink.

"You know why." He whispered to her.

The Angel bowed her head, shaking it back and forth, not saying a thing.

There was nothing left to say, after all.

He didn't notice.

"Don't let her get you down~!" A cheerful voice sang. "You did what you had to,  _wanted_  to. That's what's important."

"Every human life is important!" The Angel spat at the Other. Her brows were furrowed in righteous anger, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

The Other scoffed at her. "Please, that's not an argument. Humans are pathetic and we  _both_  know it." The Other glanced at the man still stirring his drink. He lowered his voice to a growl.

"We all do."

The man said nothing to the two. Instead, he removed his finger and lifted it to his lips, rubbing his tongue gently along the digit. Locking his lips around the end, he carefully sucked the nail, enjoying the tang of blood and alcohol blended together. With a small  _pop_ , he removed the finger from his mouth.

The two fell silent with the sound of the  _pop,_ staring at him.

The Other stared slyly.

The Angel stared with pity.

"Sir, are you okay?" A new voice asked.

The man jerked, eyes roving everywhere before falling on the woman before him.

She was leaning forward slightly, wiping an already clean-looking glass down. The woman was a bit older than himself, a few gray hairs dangling in her face. Her laugh lines were thick and wrinkles crinkled around her hazel eyes. She was a bit on the portly side, but not enough to warrant her as being fat.

Though the woman practically radiated a feeling of motherliness, she had a slightly wary look in her eyes, staring at him in distrust.

He let a small smile grace his features, meeting her cold eyes with his warm dark ones.

He watched as tenseness fell from her shoulders. Though she was still suspicious of him, she wasn't openly hostile.

"I'm fine." He answered her smoothly.

"Are you sure? You look...tense." She ventured carefully, eyes glancing down him.

_Look who's talking._  He thought. Outwardly, he said, "Yeah. Just tired. I've been traveling for a while now." He rubbed his eyes for emphasis.

She relaxed even more. "Really? Where do you come from?"

"Well, I'm actually going back home. I was in New York for a while though."

She laughed. "In the Big Apple, huh? Much different than out here, I would imagine. Never been to a city myself, ya see."

"It's  _very_  different. Everybody's always in a hurry and there's little room to breathe, unlike the country." He replied simply, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

"Donna! Can ya get me another beer!?" A patron down the bar asked, slamming his glass back onto the wood.

"On it!" Donna yelled back.

"You're name's Donna?" He asked her before she could trot off and fulfill the request.

She gave him a watery smile. "Yup." She chirped before hurrying away.

He watched her go, a smirk working it's way into his face.

Donna?

Perfect.

~~0~~0~~0~~

"-and I found him the next morning passed out on the roof!" Mabel crowed, finishing up her story while simultaneously elbowing a flushing Dipper in the side.

Wendy let out a bark of a laugh. "You're kidding!" She coughed out, glancing between the twins. "Who knew you had such a wild side, Dipper?" She directed to the male twin, waggling her eyebrows as she did so.

Dipper flushed a deeper red somehow and twiddled his thumbs, embarrassed by Mabel telling that terrible story to his past crush.

"Ugh, that entire day was a terrible idea." The brunet groaned, resting his head in his hands.

Wendy shot a relaxing grin at the distressed man. "Hey, it's fine, Dip. Everyone makes bad decisions in College. Hell, people make bad decisions throughout their entire life! It's okay as long as you learn from your mistakes."

Dipper peeked through his fingers, giving the redhead a thankful look while Mabel stared in amazement.

"Wow, Wendy! When did you get so wise?"

Wendy smirked. "I'll never tell!" She snickered.

Dipper barked out a small chuckle while Mabel rolled her eyes and reached over to steal some bits of pancake off her plate, shoving the soggy food into her mouth.

Wendy gave the girl a knowing look and pushed the entire plate over, much to Mabel's delight.

"So what's our plans today, guys?" The redhead asked.

The twins glanced at one another and shrugged.

Wendy looked at them with mock shock. "You don't have any ideas at all?" She leaned back and crossed her arms. "Not even an adventure in the woods?"

Mabel whipped around to look at her brother with a questioning look. Dipper shifted his weight, pulling out a familiar battered maroon journal from his jacket, slight smirk on his face.

"Welllll..." He drawled playfully. "There are a few more mysteries we haven't seen before."

The two girls exchanged excited looks.

Wendy slid out of the booth and stood tall.

"Well then, what are we waiting for?"

~~0~~0~~0~~

Wendy squared her shoulders, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to see. All around her, sirens of the local police screamed, red and blue light throwing the warehouse in front of her in sharp and twisted shadows.

Blinking hard, Wendy watched as the door to the flat building was lifted slowly, metal against metal screeching like a lost child.

The sound sent chills down her spine.

Next to her, some cop (She thinks it might be the Sheriff, but she really wasn't paying attention) was telling her about a couple of teenagers finding the body or whatever after trying to break in.

Wendy nodded along to his barely heard words, mind trying to tighten on what was before her.

The door slammed up into the top, causing partials of dust to explode in the air, starting a lazy descent downwards.

Sucking in a short breath, Wendy strode forward into the darkness. Going along the wall, she fiddled around to try and find the lights, dust clinging to her sweaty fingers. Finally finding the lever, she shoved it upward, flooding the large room in harsh, too-bright industrial light.

She rapidly blinked spots out of her eyes from the sudden change.

The first thing she noticed that the warehouse was (nearly) empty.

The second thing she noticed were the words.

For the sixteenth time.

Across the entire back wall, in now dried blood, shined the two words that she always dreaded to see.

I'M SORRY

It was written in all caps in careful and blocky letters, mimicking computer font fairly well. It sent chills rippling across her every time, causing goose flesh to rise as every hair on her stood up on end.

She let out a shaky breath. Slowly lifting her right leg, she unglued herself from the floor and started striding forward, trying her best to keep her gate even and confident, letting a simple scowl mar her face.

She didn't want anyone to see how she was still shaken up by these murders, after all.

The body lay right under the O, like it usually was in this position. Unlike the last murder, this one was surprisingly clean. No massive blood-splatters, no mashed up organs, no-

Then the stench hit her. She'd forgotten to plug her nose.

It was of blood and flesh and vomit and bitterness. It hooked her stomach and dragged it down, causing the acid to slosh around unpleasantly.

Her hand went up automatically to pinch her nostrils. Opening her mouth, tongue lolling out slightly, Wendy gagged on the scent, feeling the back of her throat distort.

Rolling her shoulders, Wendy quickly gasped through her mouth, the pungent scent latching into her tongue, sour and disgusting.

After recovering from the invisible onslaught, she bent down so she was level with the man before her, doing a quick profile on the poor, dead soul.

He was wearing a nice suit (well it was probably very nice before his murder) and was tied up with silvery duct tape stained red. His dress pant's right knee was cut away in a neat square, displaying a large, perfect hole dug right into his kneecap . Considering the drill still plugged in set next to him, completely wiped clean, it didn't take a genius to figure out what happened.

A small trickle of blood still seemed to be still leaking out, sluggishly making it's way down his leg.

Ignoring the shiver that raced up her spine, Wendy moved her eyes upward, taking in the vomit-crusted undershirt and jacket and finally landing to the man's face.

Blended mush that used to be his eyes leaked out of empty sockets, an ugly rotting yellow along with dried pus and blood. A few flies feasted on the gore, buzzing loudly in simple enjoyment.

The top of his head was even worse. Another hole was found between his eyes and bits of dried up gray matter hung out limply.

Wendy swallowed down her pity and sadness for the man. Very carefully, she stepped closer to the corpse, trying to get a closer look. Moving to the right slightly, she saw more bits of brain poking out behind the ear. A quick check to the left confirmed the same to the other side in the exact same place.

Wendy straightened herself up from the crouched position she had taken, eyes narrowing in thought. This guy- this killer was nothing if not precise.

"Well?" The cop from before asked her, face holding a slightly green tint.

She sighed. "Same guy I've been chasing, all right. Looks like this victim was killed at least a day ago, if not two."

"Any chance of getting him?"

"Not likely." Wendy growled, frustration creeping up on her. "He's probably long gone by now."

The cop next to her shuddered quite visibly. "What type of sick fucker does this to another human being?"

"I don-"

"Wait a minute!" The cop interrupted her, taking a few large steps towards the drill next to the body. Careful not to get too close to the victim, he lowered himself to peer at the innocent-looking tool, eyes wide in disbelief.

"What?" Wendy snapped, irritated for being cut off.

"This was bought in town."

Wendy was right next to the cop in a flash.

"What?" She gasped.

He nodded. "This is from the local Lowe's. I've seen it's model in there and, well, it looks brand new."

Indeed, despite what the drill was used for, it looked brand new, yellow plastic and metal still shiny.

"That means the killer bought it here..." Wendy's eyes got impossibly wide, true excitement and giddiness.

A lead.

A first honest-to-God  _lead_.

"The-the cameras!" Wendy stuttered, stumbling back away from the scene. "They're on all the time! The killer must be on it!"

Wendy's entire body shook from the revelation. After sixteen murders, after passing through eight states with nothing but corpses, she finally had something.

She was finally going to capture this monster.

~~0~~0~~0~~

_L vwloo gr._

~~0~~0~~0~~


	4. No Escape From Reality

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Kdyh brx iljxuhg lw rxw, Uhg?_

~~0~~0~~0~~

Wendy groaned, her head slamming down onto her desk. Tears pricked her eyes.

"Fuck." She whispered. "Fucking Goddamn shit."

Her traitorous tears left her eyes, leaking out of tear ducts she wished she didn't have and tracing down the contours of her face, staining the mess of documents she had collapsed on.

She wanted to believe it was all a conspiracy, that somehow the killer couldn't be caught on tape, like a vampire or was magical and could just poof evidence away.

But the sad fact was was that vampire's didn't live in this part of the United States and though she knew next to nothing about magic and was  _glad_ for that fact, she was pretty sure magic did not work in they way she was thinking.

Nope. This time, it had been pure luck.

Pure, honest to God, proof that Satan is controlling the world, or aliens, or that the universe is indeed a cruel and horrid place where everything that  _could_ go wrong  _would_ , and any other crazy conspiracies and belief that explained why the tape recovered from Lowe's had nothing of any use on it.

Closing her tired eyes, Wendy could still see the imprint of the video in her mind's eye. Apparently, Lowe's just so happened to be having a special sale on drills that  _one fucking day_. The entirety of the footage was filled with people of all shapes and sizes buying drills.

She  _knew_ the killer was in the video, knew it with her heart and soul and mind. But there was no way to narrow it down. No leads on what the guy looked like and hell, it could be a girl for all she knew, even if handwriting evidence or whatever bullshit said that the killer was male.

People of all races, gender, and color blurred in the redhead's mind, becoming one big blob of confusion and frustration.

She had been  _so close_. So  _fucking_ close.

She could imagine handcuffing the fucker. Imagine how she would feel  _finally_ bringing the guy to justice. She could imagine the trial that would happen, how all the evidence and all the photos of every single innocent victim would line up, the looks of horror and disgust and  _oh my God this guy is a monster_ on their faces. It wouldn't take much to send this guy straight to the table for poison to be pumped into his veins. No, not even the best lawyer money could buy could ever save this guy from righteous justice.

She could almost  _hear_ then hammer of justice being slammed on the table, hear the final verdict of  _completely and utterly guilty the other option was never a real option because this guy truly is an A-grade fucker._

Well, maybe not in those exact words. But she could see the faceless monster being escorted out, decked in the proper color of a nasty orange.

She could see the guy laying on the table, strapped down. Could see the needle being pushed slowly into a vein, thin metal releasing deadly fluid to shutdown whatever black heart the killer had in his chest.

Oh, Wendy could see it all. Every step in the court system, every excuse the hired and most likely nervous lawyer would give; insanity definitely. But that would be shot down fast in the wake of gore and corpses this guy left.

No. When she caught him, he'd be dead for sure.

The problem was in the actual catching part.

No DNA ever left at a crime scene. At least, nothing that could be used. Not a hair, not a sample of skin, not a print. Absolutely and positively nothing.

Wendy sat up weakly, running her shaking hands through her dirty strands of hair once again. Glancing out the window, the girl saw with a pang as the early morning lights weakly filtered through the blinds, pale and gray; fittingly melancholy.

She had pulled another all nighter again.

Sighing, Wendy slowly stood from the old desk she was using, hearing her back pop in pleasure from the movement. Shaking stiffness from her legs, the redhead cracked each of her knuckles, enjoying the sharp sound that split the silent air, like a knife through butter.

Rolling her shoulders and popping her neck, Wendy could practically feel her blood speeding up once again as she became slightly more active. Blinking her eyes a few times, she stumbled away from the desk to go over to her suitcase, fishing out some clean clothes to change into.

After a quick brush through her hair and teeth, Wendy tossed her dirty clothes and all her toiletries into her bag.

Packed and nearly ready to go, Wendy turned to go and gather up the mess of documents.

Staring down at the list of dead people and the photos that went along, Wendy felt another spark of rage go through her.

She had been so  _close_.

Scooping up the documents, she carefully filed them away and slipped them into an inner pocket in her jacket, right next to the journal that she both cherished and hated.

The killer was done here. And if he was going to continue to move west, as expected, his next target would undoubtedly be...

Idaho.

Wendy let out a huge yawn, one that pained her mouth, made tears spring out of her eyes, and gave her a wave of dizziness.

Thank God the Idaho border was only a short drive away.

~~0~~0~~0~~

He stared at the naked body before him, his apathy slowly mixing with a slight excitement.

Tears streaked down her face; past her blindfold, clear and visible. Most likely salty. Just like blood.

Tears were to blood as watered down beer was to moonshine, after all.

He chuckled lightly at his thoughts.

"Being poetic, I see? You're in a chipper mood!" The Other said to him cheerfully.

He shrugged in response.

"Looks like I'm rubbing off on you. It's a good thing, really. You should always look up to those superior, after all."

"Superior? You? Don't make me laugh!" The Angel snapped, slight desperation mixed with resignation in her tone. Bags hung under her eyes, heavy and hurtful. She was so tired. So, so tired.

But she could not rest yet.

The Other snorted. "Make you laugh? Impossible! All the humor drained out of you a long time ago!"

She scowled, but couldn't deny that fact.

A large wet sniff broke the three out of their conversation.

He turned to the woman before him, once again watching as tears stained her face.

They always cried.

_Always._

He wasn't surprised.

Striding up to her-  _Donna,_ was her name, he quickly did a double check on her hand towel he was using for her gag. It was slightly stained from washing dirty glasses and hadn't been cleaned yet.

"Does your towel taste bad?" He asked he in a surprisingly gentle voice. "I wish I could've gotten you a better one. At least a towel that was clean. But I was running short on time and how many others are there with the name Donna?"

Donna, as expected, didn't say anything. She didn't even acknowledge someone was talking to her. She simply continued to cry in forced silence.

"Not many, I don't think." The Other answered for him.

"Yeah. That's what I thought too." He agreed with him.

He turned back to the woman, now watching her tears drip onto the ground with a slow but steady  _drip drip drip,_ the sound deafening in the oppressive stillness.

"Tears are more interesting when your hanging upside down." He assured Donna, lightly patting her on the shoulder, causing the woman to flinch violently which, in turn, lead to her to start swinging back and forth slowly.

"You might not want to do that." He advised, quickly making sure the ropes he used were still sturdy and strong. "The more you swing, the more painful it'll be in the future."

"Speaking of the future, can we get a move on already?" The Other complained with a moan. "I mean, as much fun it is to watch a human pendulum, I think blood and guts are a bit more fun."

"Yeah. I guess your right." He agreed, taking his weapon of choice out of his pocket.

A medium-sized red hand screwdriver.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The Angel, as always, backed up away from the two, eyes a storm of pain, loss, sorrow, and bitter acceptance.

She turned away. Like she always did.

Anything and everything about the Angel fell from his mind as he lifted the screwdriver up, letting it glint under the single bulb that hung above.

"So, what's your plans with this one? I mean, last time your work wasn't all that fun. Well, the vomiting and drill part for sure! But it was kinda tame. Not nearly enough blood."

He smirked slightly at the other and said nothing. Instead, he stepped carefully around the cocooned woman, letting his steps echo with the drip of her tears.

Donna whimpered.

The Other snickered.

He went behind her, looking at a small section of the wrist that happened to be uncovered from where she was tied. Not looking anywhere but her pale skin, he carefully set the cool, rounded metal right next to a pulsating purple vein. He could almost  _see_ the blood rush faster as fear clouded her.

Donna's breaths quickened.

A small grin graced his features. It was unusual on his face, unassuming at first until one took a closer look, seeing too many teeth, how fixated and strained it seemed with just a hint of vague instability. It was a smile that made children lie awake in bed and night, one that made chills rush across skin while one's spine shivered from the sight.

Unsettling.

It was a good thing Donna couldn't see him.

He held the screwdriver in place, feeling it pump in time with her rushing blood. Another wave of excitement went through him. His mind felt... _sharp_ and everything around him was thrown into great detail. The world was less fuzzy, less confounding, less  _gray_.

It was just him. Him, the Other, the Angel, and Donna.

That's all there was.

He slowly put pressure on the screwdriver, watching as the skin slowly sunk in, bending from the screwdriver easily enough.

He held the light pressure for a bit.

Donna whimpered, distress and terror loud and clear. She started wriggling again.

Grabbing the ropes, he forced her to be still again.

"Stop that." He commanded, not unkindly. "It'll be worse for both of us if you do that, so just...don't."

Making sure she wouldn't try wiggling again, he let go of her ropes, using his fingers to stop any slight swaying that might of happened.

Eyes falling back to the screwdriver at her wrist, he put a bit more pressure on it while giving it a slight, unnoticeable twist.

He held it again, completely still and quiet until he heard more whines of horror. Then he continued.

He broke few a through layers of skin.

He watched in fascination as a few flaps of skin fluttered away and down, disappearing into the ground.

Donna hiccuped, a small and pathetic sound that drove him to jam the rest of the screwdriver into her flesh. He could feel the skin break as the metal was driven in.

This time, Donna let out a muffled scream and thrashed wildly. Gripping the screwdriver tightly, he allowed the woman to squirm, the tool in her wrist enlarging the small wound. Bright red blood bubbled around the metal rod and trickled down her bound wrist, pooling onto the rope he used, staining it.

Donna was gasping in agony now. He could hear it in her voice, see it in the way she trembled.

Another pinprick of pure thrill stabbed it's way through his heart.

He felt...

He felt...

He was  _feeling_.

Emotion itself was euphoric to him.

Absolute euphoria.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Letting out a small, shaky gasp, he drove the screwdriver in deeper, his hand now resting against her too-hot wrist.

The tool parted bones in her wrist, he could feel them grinding together, the sound blending with her screams in perfect harmony.

There was some more resistance. Bones and ligaments were hard to cut with a simple screwdriver, after all. Carefully wrapping a thin arm around her waist, he steadied the both of them before using his remaining strength to drive the tool through, cutting through all leftover resistance and jutting out the other end of her wrist.

Another muffled scream tore through the woman as wracks of pain shook her body.

Almost gently, he let go of the screwdriver and took a step back, eyes glinting proudly in the darkness.

The tool stayed in it's position, entirely red now. More blood dribbled from the wound, thin streams that simply landed on the rope, making them slick. Her wrist was shivering, large throbs making the limb pulsate. Narrowing his eyes, he could see that it was throbbing in time with her racing pulse.

"Well. That was fun." The Other finally said, coming up next to him.

He nodded mindlessly in return.

He didn't really feel better.

He didn't feel worse.

But he  _felt_. And that's what was important.

The Other took a close look at Donna's wrist, admiring the wound with the eyes of a connoisseur. "So are you going to use more screwdrivers or-"

He stepped forward once again, ignoring the Other's question. Grabbing the handle, he yanked the tool out with one clean and smooth motion, causing another cry from the woman to ring out.

The Other said nothing to him. He merely watched.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a zip-lock baggy full of shiny new screws of different lengths and sizes. They clanged together as he opened the bag, pulling one out carefully, the metal on metal noise briefly overtaking the sound of tears dripping onto the wood.

Donna started to make more muffled noises, most likely demanding to know what was happening and what he was doing.

He decided to indulge her.

"I'm afraid I can't quite make out what your saying." He told her politely, re-zipping the bag and tucking it away. "However, I think I do know what you are trying to convey. It's  _always_ the same questions after all."

The woman fell still at his last statement, but her sounds got louder. If he tried, he probably could pick out words in the mess of snarls, but quite frankly, there was no real need to.

"To answer your questions I think you have." He started, raising his low voice so she could hear him over herself. "No, I'm not telling you why, no, I will not let you go, and yes, I do consider you my friend." He spoke plainly.

Donna's muddled protests fell silent at the hard, unhinged tone he used. More shivers attacked her body.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

"Now, let's continue." He stated, his tone suggesting finalization. Screw in one hand and screwdriver in the other, he carefully slipped the end of the screw into the hole he had punched through her wrist, wriggling it enough for it to not slip out. Carefully, he placed the end of the screwdriver on the head, lining up the grooves perfectly. Holding it steady with one hand, he slowly screwed the screw in.

Donna let out another muddled screech of pain, body trembling with agony as the metal gouged into her flesh, twirling it up inside the wound.

He was slow and steady with the screw. Humming a familiar, peaceful song under his breath, he continued his work calmly.

He was able to get about one third of the screw in before bone and ligaments became a problem. Furrowing his brow slightly, he put more force behind his own wrist, jiggling the tool a bit to try and get the angle correct. However, the crudely splintered bone would not allow the screw anymore entrance.

"Well, look at this. It won't go all the way in." He murmured in complaint.

"Eh." The Other snorted. "Just take a hammer and nail the rest into her."

He shook his head. "You can't do that. It's a screw. It's not smooth."

"So? They're both the same shape. Kinda."

He snorted. "That won't work and would probably break the rest of Donna's wrist."

Donna jerked at the sound of him saying her name.

"I don't want that. She's being really good right now. I think she's my favorite friend so far." He finished calmly, seemingly not to have noticed the woman's violent jerks or watery cries.

"Whatever floats your boat." The Other concluded, falling silent to watch once again in glee.

Taking the screwdriver out of the screw's head, he made sure the metal would stay before walking back in front of Donna.

Resting his head on his hand, he cocked his head to the side in an almost curious nature, dark eyes unwavering and serious.

"Hmm, there's so many possibilities, aren't there?" He said to no one in particular. Cracking his neck softly, he stepped closer to the woman, just now noticing the sweat gathered on her pale flesh.

"You're so pale." He remarked plainly. "I can almost see every vein inside you!"

He grinned.

"You  _definitely_ are my favorite so far." He reassured her, taking in the slightly sagging rolls of fat. Her belly button was deep and dark, a black hole.

Giggling childishly, he reached in and took out another screw from his baggy. Lightly pressing his fingers on her stomach, he steadily entered the screw into her belly button, twisting it slightly so it would catch the skin and hold.

It was half-way in before it stopped.

"Wow. You have the deepest belly button I have ever seen. Though, I can't say I've seen many, so that might not mean much."

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The woman let out a distressed sob.

He leaned back, taking in her appearance with wide eyes. There were so many options, really.

Carefully lifting the screwdriver once again, he gently laid the tip on multiple parts of her body, barely brushing the skin as he did so. First, on her right side, between two of her ribs. Then, he dragged it downward, making sure the tip ghosted over sweaty skin, causing goose flesh to rise.

He rested it on her hip, right above the rope. Smirking slightly, he moved it over again, slower this time, to her vagina, lightly resting it against one of her folds, gently tickling the shaved area.

Donna visibly froze, paralyzed at what was happening to her. Weak whimpers hissed out of her mouth, barely heard and not understood.

He frowned. "I'm not a rapist." He said slowly. "Sex is...repulsive." He mentioned as an afterthought. "Slimy and uncomfortable. Pointless." He removed the screwdriver, gliding it to her left side, between her ribs yet again.

"For now, we'll keep it kinda simple, okay?"

She didn't give him an answer.

He sneered.

"Very well then. I'll think I'll start..."

He shifted the tool downwards, so it was between her bottom two ribs. Gripping it tightly with one hand, he jabbed it into her soft flesh with as much force as he could, beating through the protective layer and scraping against her bone. Blood trickled out, held in by the metal. Wriggling the screwdriver around a bit to widen the hole some, he slipped it back out easily enough.

Donna let out a scream from behind her gag as more tears poured from her eyes.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the orchestra of dripping tears and blood topped with a melody of muffled screams.

Without opening his eyes, he fumbled for another screw, almost dropping the bag twice.

Putting the bag away again, he slipped the screw into her once again. Holding the head between two gloved fingers, he guided the screwdriver over it and started twisting the metal into her.

Unlike her wrist, this one actually went in all the way and held pretty firmly, metal gouged into the skin inside.

"Looks like I was right!" He said with cheer, honest pride in his voice. "Ribs are a good place. Let's try somewhere new, shall we?"

Donna was silent, completely and utterly spent. She simply hung there, unable to do anything. Her face was purple from being upside down for so long, hazel eyes closed. Gag still firmly in mouth, it was only her visible, pulsating veins that told him she was still alive.

"Looks like she passed out." The Other said, clear disappointment in his voice.

He sighed and ran his hand thorough his surprisingly fluffy locks, ignoring the fact that he was getting blood on him. "Yeah. Maybe hanging her upside down wasn't the best decision."

The Other shrugged. "Ah, well. Better luck next time, I guess."

He nodded.

"So, are you going to kill her? Cut out her liver and shove it up her anus?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Ew, no. That's gross."

The Other laughed at him. "Out of everything,  _that's_ what disgusts you?"

He shrugged. "Asses are gross. It's where shit comes out. I don't want to be anywhere near that."

"Understandable. Human bodies are  _repulsive_." The Other mimicked him.

He gave a slight nod and reached up to lightly place the screwdriver between the next two ribs.

"So you're going to continue?"

"I don't have any other uses for all these screws."

"Well, you shouldn't have bought so many, then."

"Didn't know exactly how many I was going to need."

The Other chuckled as he rammed the screwdriver in yet again.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

"touché."

~~0~~0~~0~~

"Dipper...I don't know about this. Seems  _really_ dangerous."

Dipper scoffed at her and waved a careless hand. "I'll be fine, Wendy. It's just simple magic. Basic defense and all that. It's not like I'm trying to steal souls or whatever."

His words did little to calm her worry.

"Simple magic?" She questioned. "Isn't that like, an oxymoron or something?"

Dipper shook his head. "It's easier than you think." he looked up at her with clear and earnest eyes, patting the patch of grass next to him as an invite to join.

Wendy didn't want anything to do with this. She'd seen and fought some of the magical creatures found. Heck, she'd been face-to-face with  _literal_ demons! Magic was bad news, and she knew it. Beasts and creatures of mystic and wonder practiced magic; not human boys.

Wendy lowered herself onto the grass next to him, shoulders still and back ramrod straight, looking as if she was ready to bolt at any time.

Dipper lightly chuckled at her antics. "It's  _fine_ Wendy. Geeze, I've never seen you so stressed before. Are you sure you haven't eaten another magical mushroom?"

Wendy rolled her eyes at him. Relaxing slightly, Wendy shot back "oh, that was  _one_ time and it was both you and Mabel's fault and you know it!" The read head flashed him a grin to show that she was joking.

Dipper cracked a wry smile at her, glad he had seen her cue for being sarcastic. Even he had to admit he was a bit too serious at times.

As in  _sometimes_.

Dipper laid the journal next to him and pulled a book off of a stack he had brought with him into the forest. It was heavy and dusty looking, an ugly brown color with suspicious darker stains splattered onto the cover.

Dipper glanced at her from the corner of his eye before cracking the book open.

"Yes, I admit that not all magic is good magic." He shifted the heavy book into her lap. It's yellowed and crinkly pages stared up at her, covered in a messy scrawl. It was actually written in English, much to her surprise, though glancing through the pages, she wished it weren't.

Shuddering at a specific page on how to devour souls, Wendy turned to Dipper nervously, trying her best to ignore the strange expression he had on his face.

"Why do you have a book on dark magic? And  _why_ are you showing it to me? This isn't convincing me, Dipper. It's actually doing the opposite."

Dipper's expression melted back into a warm one. "Well, I want to know what sort of things dark magic does. If I know about it, I'll be able to find and sense it better so I could take action to prevent it. Also, that book also goes over demonic magic as well, not just dark magic."

"Those are different?"

Dipper shrugged. "Apparently. To answer your second question, I want to show you the  _bad_ part of magic to admit that yes; magic  _can_ be evil. But-"

Dipper took the book from her and laid it out before the both of them, a disgusting picture of a man kissing a corpse being displayed in the book. Dipper turned away and grabbed another book, this one even thicker with a dark gray cover. Some sort of Latin words were printed on the cover, though Wendy had no clue on what they spelled out.

Dipper, like before, placed the book on her lap. Carefully, Wendy flipped to a random page, finding a spell that seemed to safely dispel fire, used if there wasn't any water around.

"-Magic can also be useful." Dipper finished, letting Wendy leaf through the book. Most was in Latin, though Dipper's sticky notes slapped onto the margins translated what it was saying.

As Dipper had said, nearly all the spells were either defensive in a way or just plain useful. Such as teleportation, breathing underwater, a magical shield, and even sleeping spells. Hell, there was even a spell to make your food taste a bit more salty without actually adding any salt!

"See?" Dipper smirked, eyes alight in mischief and an  _I-told-you-so_  aura radiating out of him.

Wendy couldn't help it; she laughed. Keeping the page open to the salt spell, she placed the gray book next to it's gross brown counter-part, clearly seeing the two sides of the same trade.

"Yeah. I see."

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Qrw bhw, exw brx zloo_

~~0~~0~~0~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Open Your Eyes

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Wkh hqg lv qhdu..._

~~0~~0~~0~~

Wendy stared up at the woman before her, heart hard and cold and slippery sickness rolling in her stomach.

"-fuck is wrong with this guy." She heard someone hiss behind her.

She agreed with his sentiment. What  _was_ wrong with this guy?

Inspecting the victim- identified as one missing Donna Shafter, she couldn't see how someone could stomach doing this, even  _thinking_ about this.

Screws lined her body, between the ribs.

Slowly tip-toeing around the body, the redhead saw the glint of metal in other strange places. One on the wrist, a few scattered about her arms.

Making full-circle, Wendy scanned the woman, vaguely aware of people taking pictures of the crime scene around them. Most the screws were on her torso. Besides her ribs, one was in her belly button. Moving her eyes upwards, Wendy couldn't hold back the visible shudder at the sight of screws pinning back the folds of the victim's vagina, giving a clear view of her genitals.

All in all, however, Wendy counted thirty-eight screws.

Thirty-eight.

The redhead let her eyes fall down to the woman's face. Though her body was marred horribly, her face and neck had been left void of the violence.

Wendy scowled and shifted her weight to the right.

Shaking her mind from the pure gore in front of her, Wendy focused herself on what needed to be done.

First off, where was the murder weapon?

Use to her target's patterns, she strode forward once again. It had to be around here  _somewhere_.

She glanced around the attic, trying to spot the weapon used. However, besides the drops of blood on the ground and 'I'M SORRY' written on the ceiling, there was nothing else.

She scowled upwards. Look's like this house wouldn't be bought anytime soon.

Shaking her head to get rid of her wandering, inappropriate thoughts, Wendy turned back to the corpse. The weapon had to be on her...

Wendy's eyes fell to her face. A towel was wrapped around her neck loosely and her mouth was oddly deformed.

Wrinkling her nose a bit, Wendy bent down next to the woman's face.

Donna Shafter had a look of agonized resignation on her face; the acceptance of death.

Feeling her breath catch in her throat, Wendy peeled the woman's mouth open, feeling the muscles and gravity work against her. Peeling her purplish lips apart, the redhead grabbed the handle of... _something_ and yanked it out smoothly, trying her best to ignore the sounds of flesh being torn.

Looking down at the tool, Wendy let out a sharp cry of disgust and surprise and dropped it, watching as it rolled over the ruined wood before falling still once more.

The weapon was a red screwdriver.

Memories of a summer long ago flashed through her mind.

Wendy was wide-eyed as she bent down and picked up the tool once again. People hustled around her, trying to get everything in order, but she hardly noticed.

Unlike the other weapons which had been wiped clean of their gore, the screwdriver was bathed in dried, cracking blood. She could clearly see the difference between the red paint and the gore, the two like colors clashing against one another.

Ice filled her veins at the revelation. It had to be a coincidence. It  _had_ to be. There was no possible way.

Soos, her ex-coworker, the most lovable guy she'd ever met who was currently married with children  _couldn't_ have done this. There was no possible way...

"-uory? Corduroy?!" A voice yelled out at her.

Wendy whipped around, shaken from her thoughts. Behind her, some cop or whatever was panting slightly with a look of hope and success on his face.

"What?" She snapped, bitter and anxious.

Despite her rude tone, the man gave her a wide triumphant grin, pride clearly shown on his face.

"We found a hair."

~~0~~0~~0~~

Elaine Hermil didn't consider herself a normal woman. Nor did she consider herself a lucky one.

However, there was a place for everyone in this beautiful world, well at least she believed so, and ten years ago, the circus seemed like the perfect place to be her weird self without fail. Joining, she loved swinging from the high tops, dressed in a sparkly leotard, dancing away in the sky.

She had never regret her decision to become an attraction.

Until now, that is.

"Oh, it's so very dark in here, isn't it? Can barely see a thing. Then again, hide and seek is best played in the dark." A voice echoed from somewhere to the right.

Elaine Hermil dodged down another corridor in the maze, her dark shape reflected on the mirrors around her. Her costume glittered in the low-light, a sharp contrast. Terror pumped through her veins, icy and slow. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears, hear every step she took, too loud and too clear.

She didn't answer her pursuer, didn't acknowledge him whatsoever. Answering his inane questions was a  _bad_ idea. It would lead him to her.

"I used to play hide and seek all the time when I was a child. It was one of my favorite games." He spoke up again.

A beat of silence.

"Well, I never thought of it  _that_ way before. That's a bit disturbing." He chuckled.

More fear clotted in her.

Great. Her pursuer was completely and utterly batshit.

Then again, he did chase her into the fun house after trying to kidnap her. The fact that he tried to kidnap her at all said everything about his mental stability in her mind.

She tried to dodge down another hallway, only to run smack into a mirror. The entire thing vibrated at the force of her momentum. Hissing in pain, Elaine Hermil's hands flew up to her nose.

The steps echoing around her stopped briefly.

Than sped up.

Getting closer.

_Thunk. Thunk._

"Fuck." Elaine Hermil cursed out loud. Looking about wildly, she successfully went down an actual hallway this time. Glancing at the mirrors around her, she was relieved to see that the only reflection following her was her own.

She ran quickly, being light on her feet unlike her would-be kidnapper, who clunked after her.

However, his steps were still much too close too her liking. Hell, being in the same  _state_ was much too close to her liking. She had to find the exit and get out.

Get out and run to her car.

Call nine-one-one.

Go to the police station.

Do  _something_.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

The steps were closer now.

Right.

Next.

To.

Her.

A dark shape stepped out in front of her.

It was lanky, and slouched a bit, but she knew who it was.

"There you are! Thought you got lost!"

Though there was little to no light, Elaine Hermil  _knew_ there was a twisted grin on the guy's face. Knew his eyes were gleaming happily in the darkness, staring at her, ready to rape her, kill her, both.

So.

She ran.

Again.

Using her momentum, Elaine Hermil whipped around at a moments notice and ran right down the way she came, her reflection having a companion this time.

"Come back!" The man called out behind her in an innocent, pleading voice. "Please stop running."

She pushed herself faster.

Narrowing her eyes, she stared at the mirrors either side of her, taking in the reflections. Elaine Hermil's terrified orbs flashed around the edges of the mirrors, looking for...

There.

Right there.

An opening.

She flung herself down the hallway and quickly turned left down another one, keeping her footsteps light as a feather.

_Light as a feather._

_Light as a feather._

_Light as a feather._

She chanted to herself.

The heavy footsteps behind her faded away slightly.

_Thunk._

She slowed herself down to a fast walk, her lungs twisting in on themselves. She desperately wanted to gasp in needed oxygen, replenish herself.

Her own fright kept her breathing shallow and quiet.

Elaine Hermil blinked a few times, grateful that she wasn't falling into any horror movie cliches because that's what was happening, wasn't it? Victim trapped, running in circles as a cold, calculating killer played a game of cat and mouse before murdering them violently.

_Thunk._

However, Elaine Hermil's pursuer didn't know know anything about this maze. She doubt he'd ever been in it before chasing her. Unlike her, who had been in the fun house a few times. Not enough for her to know the layout, but enough to (somewhat) recognize the difference between hallways and mirrors.

But those times it hadn't been pitch black.

Those times, no one was chasing her.

Those times, no one was trying to hurt, kill, or rape her.

Elaine Hermil turned down another hallway.

_Thunk._

At least her pursuer wasn't calculating. He was just batshit insane.

"Come out, my friend! Come out come out where ever you are!" She heard him call out in the distance, his voice echoing.

Elaine Hermil shuddered. Friend?  _Friend?_ This guy really was unhinged.

"Hmm, where do you think she ran off too?" He asked himself.

She turned right, still speed-walking, trying her best to get out. Where was the damn exit?

"Well, you always seem to know stuff. I thought you would be able to point me in the right direction."

Another shiver raced up Elaine Hermil's spine and she briefly feared that she had more than one pursuer.

But no, if there was a second person, she'd be able to hear him too; voice and steps.

There was only one.

There was only one.

There was only one.

_Thunk. Thunk._

Elaine Hermil froze briefly.

The steps were getting louder.

Panic overwhelmed her, causing sweat to gather in her hands and a frigid chill to run up her body, raising goose flesh as it did. Choking back a cry, she flung herself down another hallways in haste to get away.

Then, she saw him.

Right there.

Behind her.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

She ran faster.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Her lips parted, expelling short gasps filled with full-blown hysteria and terror of the person behind her- and oh God, oh fucking God all around her and he was...  
_  
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Right.

_Thunk. Thunk._

There.

_Thunk._

THUMP!

She slammed straight into a mirror, nose cracking once again. Agony shot through her face at the second round of abuse. Like before, her hands flew up to grasp the broken bit, feeling her face flame up.

It was even worse now.

And the blood was coming faster.

"Shit." Elaine Hermil hissed under her breath, furrowing her brows. One hand still clutching her nose, she blindly felt around for an opening while coming to the realization that she had been running from her own reflection and loud footsteps.

"Sounds like you really hurt yourself. Did you run into a mirror? I know how to bandage a broken nose." Her pursuer called out to her yet again, voice brimming with honest concern.

It sickened her.

Not answering the man, she turned down another hallway, moving slower this time.

Her legs were burning with exertion from running so much, face throbbing with pain, lungs gasping for air from panic. Elaine Hermil could feel her body start to lock up from her wound and her exhaustion.

She had to find the exit.

And fast.

But with all her frantic, mindless running around, she had no clue where she was. She could be next to the wall, in the middle, right next to the exit, or even on the opposite side of the fun house from where she needed to go.

She was hopelessly lost.

Weakly, she continued moving.

_Thunk._

Elaine Hermil's mind was numb from the pain she'd gone through along with what she knew was going to happen.

_Thunk._

She was going to die.

_Thunk._  
  
Killed by someone she'd never met before, have done nothing to warrant her dead.

_Thunk._

There...

_Thunk. Thunk._

There...

_Thunk. Thunk._

Was.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

No .

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Escape.

_ThunkThunkThunkThunkThunk_

She forced her sluggish legs to pump as she broke out into a run.

She didn't have to look behind her to know he was chasing her.

The mirrors revealed everything.

Elaine Hermil could see the gleam in his eyes.

Elaine Hermil could imagine the twisted, batshit smile he had.

Elaine Hermil could feel the vibrations in the ground as he stomped after her.

Elaine Hermil could hear his voice spouting useless, pleasant and unimportant chatter. However, she couldn't make heads or tail on what exactly he was saying.

Which was probably a good thing, all things considered.

Elaine Hermil pushed herself even harder, desperate to break from her human limitations and fly far, far away.

A ghost of a touch flitted across her upper back, thin digits that raised goose flesh across her skin.

She cried out, tears finally breaking and streaming down her face, hot and stinging like broken shards.

The hand grasped at her leotard, grabbing a pinch of the thin material. Luckily, the slippery fabric easily slid out of his grasp.

She had a chance.

She was pulling ahead of him.

Flinging herself down another corner, something bright and red stabbed into her eyes, four simple letters that super-charged her with hope and pumped more adrenaline into her previously icy veins.

EXIT

It was Elaine Hermil's chance.

It was Elaine Hermil's hope.

She pushed herself harder, feet loud and clear on the floor below.

Then, Elaine Hermil tripped.

She was running too fast, pushing her muscles too hard. Her big toe stubbed on the ground below. Momentum to great to catch and straighten herself, she went crashing to the ground.

_Looks like I am part of a horror movie cliche._ She thought to herself, complete and utter fright filling her heart and soul, leaving her mind clear but slow.

Elaine Hermil's pursuer was on top of her, hands pinning her shoulders down while he straddled her to keep her from getting up.

Her mouth was dry, her tongue a great desert in her mouth. She was unable to make a sound, not that it would help, really.

Tears continued to burn down her face in abhorrent acceptance.

She was finished.

The man pinning her down chuckled weakly, breathless himself from the running.

"You got yourself a sturdy pair of legs, don't you?" He questioned rhetorically.

"I've got to say, I thought I wouldn't get you. Gave me a small scare there. But, you see-"

The man leaned in, putting painful pressure on her lower back as he did so. She could feel his bitter, arid breath on her ear.

"-I happen to know the... _truth_. And the truth is, the forces of the universe are on  _my_  side."

She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I'm afraid you never had a chance to begin with, my friend."

His weight briefly lifted from her. Breath completely knocked out of her, bones and muscles quivering, Elaine Hermil could do nothing as her pursuer lifted her up fireman style.

"You really did get me in a right mess. I had a plan for us. It would've been fun."

He carried her deeper into the maze.

The exit sign stared at her in red pity as if got dimmer and dimmer, already mourning her death with a strange melancholy.

"Had everything planned to the point. But, well, plans can go wrong. But I can improvise."

She was placed down in the middle of a four-way intersection. With her bleak acceptance mixed with physical and emotional exhaustion, she couldn't tell where the hallways were or where they even came from.

Elaine Hermil's reflection stared out at her, expression hidden, a dark and weak looking shape. Behind her was her pursuer, standing taller than her by a few inches, lanky frame slightly larger than her own, gripping her shoulders with an iron clutch that she could never hope to wriggle out of.

"That's a good idea." He said suddenly, his reflection's head turning slightly to the left, as if someone was there. "It'll be messy though."

A beat of silence.

"Of course you would think it fun." He mused, almost exasperated.

He leaned forward again, resting his unshaven chin on her shoulders. Elaine Hermil could feel the grisly hairs through her costume.

"Goodbye, my friend. It's been a lot of fun. I wasn't expecting the night to turn out like this, but I'm kinda glad it did."

Those were the last words Elaine Hermil would ever hear.

He moved his hands with lightening speed, grabbing her head with a powerful grip that shouldn't be possible with his frame. His left hand fell down to the scruff of her neck and shoved her forward, the right hand steadying her.

Fingers digging into the back of her neck, Elaine Hermil briefly felt drops of blood pool before her pursuer took her head and smashed it straight into the mirror.

The mirror didn't just vibrate; it completely and utterly shattered, glass pieces flying everywhere. Shards dug into her forehead, thick blood oozing out of the wounds.

He held her tight again.

Elaine Hermil's entire world went topsy-turvy; vision blackening around the edges.

But fate, destiny, the universe itself wasn't kind to her that night. She stayed conscious.

Elaine Hermil whimpered as the pain set in, sharp and stinging. As soon as her pursuer heard the weak noise, he smashed her head into the mirror right next to the first, glass shattering again.

This time, Elaine Hermil sworn she'd heard a crack.

Mind gone, body slumped into her killer's, she didn't register being dragged to another mirror.

Nor did she register the second whimper leaving her lips.

Nor did Elaine Hermil register being smashed into a third mirror.

Elaine Hermil would never register anything ever again.

~~0~~0~~0~~

Wendy laid against the headboard in her bed, eyes heavy but unable to close and get needed rest.

Shifting under the covers a bit, the redhead stared down at the battered maroon journal in her lap.

It was a simple thing. Handwritten. Thick. Pages yellowed from age and sticking out a bit.

Such a simple thing that completely and irreversibly changed her life.

Whether for good or ill...well, it mattered on the day. The time. The past she was thinking about filled with adventures and friends to the distant and cold unknowing future.

Most in her position would say for ill.

But Wendy was not like most people. She was a woman, now older and more jaded, found herself sitting on the fence about many things she had been for or against in the past.

The past.

That one summer.

Wendy let nostalgia cloud her eyes some, remembering the simple days.

Such as the time her, the twins, and her friends went to that haunted convenience store.

The crazy party Stan once hosted.

Dating Robbie. (That had been a mistake...)

Going to that lame Summerween party.

Breaking up with Robbie. (Now  _that_ was a good decision.)

Even the more dangerous things, such as breaking up a secret society and even finding that old weird fallout bunker in the woods had wonderful memories tied to them. Of laughter and fear and friendship.

Laughter. Fear. Friendship.

Three simple words that had somehow described a good chunk of her life perfectly.

But things change. Those words don't describe her anymore, can't describe her life.

Wendy didn't think there were three words to describe her life anymore.

The redhead stared down at the journal in her lap again. Feeling nervous sweat drip down her neck and pool in her palms a bit, the woman cracked the book open, rereading the familiar opening paragraph.

_'June 18,_

_It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began researching the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls, Oregon._

_In all my travels, never have I observed so many curious things! Gravity Falls is indeed a geographical oddity.'_

Wendy read over the page a few more times, the rush of bitter-sweet memories running through her veins and tying her heart into knots. Swallowing a sudden lump, the redhead flicked to a random page to start reading.

She happened to turn to the page about gnomes. Vaguely remembering Mabel telling her how they had wanted her to be their queen, Wendy scanned the page, trying to make out the sloppy chicken scratch. Turning her head to the right page, the lump Wendy had in her throat started to choke her, grasping her esophagus with small hands and sharp nails, digging down into her soft flesh, bruising pale skin and stealing all her life supporting air away.

The different, almost childish handwriting was written in blue pen, not the black ink the original author had used.

Though she hadn't been on that adventure the two had, their  _first_ adventure, she had been told the story many times from Mabel, simultaneously showing her the very page she was staring at now.

Rubbing the edge of the book with one hand, Wendy gently traced the blue ink with a light finger, almost as if she was afraid the entire page would crumble into dust.

Considering it's age by now, it was a wonder it even stayed in shape.

The redhead narrowed her eyes, remembering the look Dipper always got in his eyes when he figured something out or when he was about to go on another adventure into the wild and spooky forest. She remembered how hard he always tried to prove himself to be manly, only to fail in the most hilarious of ways with kitten sneezes. She remembered how he had a crush on her and how embarrassed he was. She didn't even know cheeks could  _turn_ that red!

And, of course, how their friendship together was stronger than the small network of feelings he had gotten.

How over time, their friendship only grew more and more prominent, turning into something new, something beautiful and warm.

Wendy flipped to another page, this one about some sort of mailbox that held the universe's knowledge or something.

Wendy smiled. It was a sorrow gesture, filled with wanting pasts and cold presents and hopeless futures; depression and acknowledgment along with acceptance.

Her friendship with those two wonderful twins had blossomed into something beautiful, something special.

They had been more than friends.

They had been family.

~~0~~0~~0~~

"Just take it."

"What? But this is your journal, Dipper! You love this thing!"

"Yeah. But I want you-  _need you-_ to have it."

The brunet shoved the book into Wendy's hands, forcing her to take hold of it. The redhead stared at her friend-  _her brother_ \- with concern.

"Dipper." She spoke softly, as if she were speaking to a wild animal and not another human being. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay! Why wouldn't I be okay? I'm  _always_ okay! Why? Why do you need to know? I'm totally okay, can't you tell?!" He rambled on.

Wendy shot him a glare, taking in his ragged appearance. His hair was grimy and unwashed with what looked like to be grease, dirt, dead bugs, and even  _blood_ tangled up in it. His skin had an unhealthy yellowish gleam to it and by the smell of it, had been sweating a lot more than usual. His skin was seemed stretched over his frame in some places, yet loose in others. The bruises of insomnia were painted around his eyes, thick and dark, with bags upon bags hanging underneath dull and muddy-brown orbs. His eye lids seemed to sag a bit, as if his body was trying to get itself some sleep, but Dipper wouldn't let it.

His clothes also had a number of stains and wrinkles. From what looked like coffee stains to obvious dried blood, his shirt was more of a rainbow than anything else.

Wendy gently placed the book down on the ground and took Dipper's shoulders in her hand, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Calm down, man. Just focus on breathing." She cooed to him.

Dipper visibly deflated, the tenseness in his shoulders and muscles relaxing as he fell into Wendy. The redhead cradled the other, letting him rest her head on her shoulder. She could feel him blink rapidly against her skin and feel the wetness gathering there as well. He gasped short, shallow breathes, ribs expanding and compressing violently. She rubbed his back in soothing circles, breathing slowly and deeply. The man gripping her tried to do the same and get his breathing normal again.

Panic attack fading away, the brunet pulled away from the redhead slowly, a few tears still trapped in his eyes.

"Better?"

He gave her a small nod. "Much."

Wendy carefully took his hand and lead him to the couch on the porch, sitting him down and forcing him to relax. Turning around, she fetched the book from where she placed it on the ground and joined him.

"I need you to take it." Dipper choked out. "Please. I- I don't want to look at it right now. I'm done with it."

Wendy bit the inside of her cheek, worry evident on her face. Dipper had his reasons, she knew, but those reasons couldn't come from  _anything_ good or healthy.

"It's- it's not good for me right now." Dipper continued before she could open her mouth to speak. "I- Please just take it."

Wendy stared wide-eyed at him, splitting the skin inside her cheek by worrying it so much.

Feeling the blood trickle down her throat, Wendy stuffed the book inside her jacket out of sight.

Dipper leaned back against the couch, eyes thankful and no longer dull, a small  _normal_ smile playing out across his face.

"Thank you."

~~0~~0~~0~~

_dqg L fdq kdugob zdlw._

~~0~~0~~0~~


	6. Look Up to the Skies and See

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Kh qhyhu qhhghg pb khos._

~~0~~0~~0~~

Wendy sighed as she stuffed the eighteenth packet of documents into the folder, glaring down at the thick thing in hatred.

Blunt trauma to the head by mirrors.

The redhead's lips quirked up a bit. Blunt trauma.

Definitely not her killer's style.

Then again, there were signs of a struggle outside the fun house; a couple of scuffs on the ground by two distinct pairs of shoes.

Looks like her killer had a problem with Miss Elaine Hermil.

By what little evidence there was, Wendy gleamed that he had tried to kidnap her, she happened to break free and had gone into the fun house for whatever reason. Whether it was because she was chased or she hoped to shake him off inside was unknown but whatever the case, had gone inside.

Where the killer caught up to her near the exit.

And smashed her head to a bloody pulp.

Wendy fingered the folder, leaning back into her seat. Closing her eyes lightly, the I'M SORRY on the leftover mirrors flashed before her mind, still burned into her retinas.

The redhead's orbs flashed back open, her chest heaving slightly.

Her stomach was still rolling around, the irony tang of blood and brain still stuck on her taste buds. She gagged.

The scene had been brutal. She had never seen so much blood and glass.

And yet, there was still no more evidence.

Wendy twitched and pulled out her phone.

Still nothing.

She sighed and put it away.

So what if the killer somehow didn't leave any evidence?

Even though that amount of glass should have cut him.

Even though there should have been some foot prints form all the blood.

Wendy put her head in her hands and breathed deeply through her nose.

They had a hair.

And honest to God brown hair.

They would call her soon. Today, very soon.

They'll be excited about figuring it out, the name of the fucker would be spoken, his identity would be revealed.

And he would be arrested.

He would be thrown in jail.

Then, eventually executed.

The families and friends of the victims would have their revenge.

And she would have her peace.

Wendy's phone rang.

~~0~~0~~0~~

He watched as the man before him started to come to, groaning as he did so.

His lips quirked up some. He was so close. So, so close.

After this, he would only need one more friend.

Then he'd be done.

He waited in the shadows of the trees, just out of sight, breathing in the wonderful musty air of the woods around him.

He really missed Oregon.

His home.

"Look like little H here is coming to." The Other whispered into his ear, lightly brushing his shoulder with warm hands.

He shuddered at the touch. He missed feeling another's fingers against him.

"Henry. Such a perfect name." He responded, voice clear and even.

Hearing his name, Henry jerked violently, crying out in pain as his arms, which were partially wrapped around the tree behind him, just enough to be uncomfortable, brushed roughly against the bark. His feet were flush against the trunk, toes just touching the ground.

"Wha-" the kidnapped brunet groaned, unable to settle himself against the tree comfortably.

"So what are you going to do? I know you love your lists and plans, but last time was so fun~" The Other sung, lightly rubbing his shoulder with warm hands.

He sighed, content with the touch, not used to another feeling him first.

"I quite like my lists. Planning is what makes things go perfect." He growled lowly.

"I know you do." The Other purred into his ear.

"But last time was...was  _riveting_."

The Other smirked. "Would you like to try again once more? No lists, no plans. Just feeling."

A grin graced his features.

The Angel watched the two from behind, eyes heavy, tears running down her cheeks like twin waterfalls. It disturbed her to see this, this play out and be unable to do anything. Curling up against the tree, she felt resigned to what was going to happen, an apathy she'd had since the last death.

There was nothing she could do.

She was a failure.

The Other glanced back at the Angel, superiority radiating out of him.

The Angel glared back.

"Good to see you're awake. I thought I hit you too hard. Don't want to give you a concussion."

He walked up to the tree his friend was tied too, feeling the little light from the crescent moon fall on the parts of his face that weren't covered by his deep gray jacket.

"Who- wh..." Henry moaned, head lolling to the side. His mouth hung open slightly, drool dribbling down his chin a bit.

"Shhh, your head is probably still pounding. Take it easy now."

The Other snickered. "So what are you going to do with this guy?" He asked.

"The original plan- well, I ditched the original plan."

"Oh, so you are taking my advice?"

"I guess you could say that."

He turned around and slipped back into he darkness, gathering what he needed while Henry slowly came too. Crouching down, he unzipped his backpack and pulled out two simple things.

A switchblade...

and a cheese grater.

The Other whistled in appreciation, crossing his arms as he did so.

Both tools in hand, he turned and returned to a now awake and terrified Henry.

"Who the fuck are you?! Let me go!" The tied up friend screeched, eyes blown wide in fright.

He tsked lightly, shaking his head as he did so. "Oh, I can't do that! You're just perfect and I'm so close! So very close."

Henry hissed angrily. "Let me go you fucker! I'll punch you in the face, I'll scream!" The tied up friend continued to shout out.

The Other shook his head in disappointment. "Such vulgarity!" He condescended.

"You're already screaming." He informed the brunet, cocking his head slightly to the side in an almost curious manor. "No one can hear you out here."

Henry screamed even louder, causing some birds to abscond from the trees above.

He shook his head in disappointment. "How rude." He chided.

Henry tried to spit at his kidnapper, but failed, hacking his saliva only about a foot away.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"What a bum." The Other sneered. "Get started. At this point, anything less would be too much."

He nodded in agreement and strode forward, cheese grater in his left hand and switchblade in his right.

He stopped before Henry, who was now squirming against his bonds to try and get away. "Get the fuck away from me!" He screamed desperately.

He stared down at the weapons in his hands, debating which one to use first. "Well?" He asked the Other.

The Other shrugged. "Do what you want."

He smirked. "With pleasure."

"Are you crazy or something? You're a fucking mental patient aren't you you psycho?!" Henry screamed.

His face contorted in rage, hatred boiling inside his blood. How dare this man.

Clenching his teeth together, flames licked his insides, fueled by the insatiable anger and blood-lust that suddenly gripped him. He raised his switchblade up.

"Mind holding something for me?" He snarled, plunging the blade sideways through both cheeks, punching out rotting teeth as he did so.

Henry naturally opened his mouth to let out a howl of agony, causing the blade to slit his skin open even more. Red blood gushed out of the wound, streaking down his face and dropping onto his neck like a ruby rapid.

"Thank you." He growled, eyes dark, reflecting the flames of hell itself.

Crouching down, he processed to roll up Henry's jeans some. Grabbing his shoelaces, he yanked both shoes and socks off and threw them into the distance. A pungent and abhorrent stench pierced the air, smelling of sweat and manure.

He didn't notice or care.

Gripping his least-favorite friend's ankle in one hand, he carefully took the cheese grater and started rubbing it against the tops of the man's toes, letting the metal shards rip up the thin layer of skin, sometimes nicking the nail, scratching it.

Henry let out a gasping scream, eyes wide. "F-fucker! Stop it!" He managed to spit out at him.

He didn't respond.

He presses down harder, moving the grater faster as he did so. Fleshy red flakes peeled off and away, falling down inside the red pooling. The liquid shined like dark rubies in the low light, disgustingly precious.

Henry's words died into animalistic screams of agony, which in turn sent shivers of adrenaline and excitement up his spine, shocking every one of his nerves.

He braces his knees against the ground, getting his jeans slightly muddy as he put his weight into the grater, moving it back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Ever faster.

Henry's screams crescendoed into a deafening orchestra around the blade in his mouth as he started to grate against nubs of yellow-white bone. Slivers of white peeled of little by little along with gooey ligaments, flying up with the speed he was going, spraying his face with the chunks. His tongue darted out, licking the bits off around his lips, the iron tang sweet. The bits of bone rubbed against his teeth as he chewed ever so slightly, feeling bits of ligaments bend to his incisors.

Finally, he started to slow down, growling the entire time. Pausing the grater, he looked at the foot, which was now nothing more than a gory mess of red.

The grater didn't fare much better. Flesh and bone was caught in its holes while blood dripped from the once shiny metal.

The Other whistled, amazed. "Wow. That's pretty beautiful." He complimented.

"Thanks." He replied.

Henry whimpered, a disjointed sound around the metal.

He straightened back up, rolling stuff shoulders and cracking his back as he went. Looking at the grater, he frowned. It was pretty much ruined.

"Do you think you could help me clean this, Henry?" He asked.

Henry didn't say anything. He couldn't. His eyes were half-lidded in agony, head askew and lolling to the side.

"I think you can."

He clutched Henry's lower jaw, jerking the man back into consciousness. The tied up friend wriggled, thrashing about to try and pull away.

Unfortunately for him, the ropes were tied tight, bending limbs into unnatural positions. His joints and bones creaked in protest at the stress, rough bark scraping up his back giving him shallow, dirty cuts.

He started to pry Henry's jaws open, causing the switchblade to rip upwards into his flesh, sharp edge digging into the roof of his mouth.

He frowned at the blade. Taking his hand off Henry's face, he tapped the handle of the blade.

"This is getting in the way." He muttered. Grabbing the handle, he turned the blade so the flat side was facing upwards and ripped it outward, tearing his cheeks and lips apart, leaving a gaping gash in the middle of his face.

Henry let out a broken, gurgling scream, blood gushing from his mouth.

He dropped the switchblade.

Seeing the new tear in his lower jaw, he grabbed Henry's tongue and pulled it out. "You're so rude. My favorite movie when I was a kid once said 'If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.' Or at least, something like that"

Henry continued to gurgle.

Taking the grater, he tightened his hold on the blood-slicked tongue, unable to feel the organ through his gloves. Placing the clogged grater over the muscle, he once again started up a vicious back and forth sawing, rending his taste buds off. The tongue bled profoundly but unnoticed, red already matching with red in the gore that was left of Henry's face.

Henry tried his best to cough, red rivers running down his throat choking him, filling both stomach and lungs with it's sticky iron tang.

He continued to saw, feeling the muscle twitch angrily under the abuse. Smirking, he let his rage at the hateful man mix with his hungry frenzy. Mouth open in a too wide smile that showed too many teeth to be completely natural or healthy, he let crazed laughs echo from his throat, callous and cruel.

The laughter filled the small branch of the forest they were in, dancing around the trees. The Other chuckled along with him, the two voices harmonizing together perfectly; one high and merciless and the other low and monstrous.

The Angel sobbed behind them, a background static that made no difference to the music twirling around them.

Finally, after the tongue had been rendered to nothing but a mushy and bloody pulp, he stopped the cheese grater, which was even more clogged up now to the point of uselessness.

"This is fun!" The Other cheered. "More! More!" He demanded with a mad glee.

He stared at Henry, his face a complete mess of blood, broken tissue, and torn meat.

"Looks like you won't be mean or rude anymore." He chuckled lowly, his unnatural rage diminished in the tantrum he'd just thrown. "Though, I better hurry this up. Don't want you too leave already!"

Picking up the switchblade from where it fell, he cut out the front of the man's plaid shirt, the cheap fabric tearing easily under the sharpened and stained blade.

He looked at his grater, lips twisting into a small leer.

"Want to see a  _real_ magic trick?" He asked.

Henry, vision clouded by the blackness of death and the red of gore, couldn't make a sound, couldn't twitch a muscle to indicate he was listening at all. He could only lie there, strapped against a tree, limbs bent at odd angles, face completely torn apart.

He placed his hand on the cheese grater, staring at the caught bones and meat in unnatural fascination. Thick green flames sparked, catching the carnage on fire and burning it away. The smell of blazing flesh pierced the area, filling the small stretch of woods with it's bitter flavor.

He breathed in deeply, enjoying the irony scent of blood mixed with the sweet smell of something burning away.

The Angel behind him flinched violently, but could do nothing. Closing her eyes, she blocked the violent flashbacks the best she could, ignoring the cackle of flames behind her.

The green fire slowly died into a warm smolder before disappearing entirely, leaving the cheese crater looking brand new, as if it had never been used in the first place.

"Much better." He purred.

Looking up at Henry's exceptionally hairy chest, he braced a hand against him, right over his center. Placing the grater right over his left nipple, he grated it away with short and sharp strokes, the tip of the nipple easily getting caught in the metal loops, getting ripped off. Blood poured out of the wound in a thin trickle, slowly getting thicker as time started to tick by.

Removing the grater, he switched it to his other hand. Lifting up his thumb, he pushed his pad into the wound with ease, feeling his soft and squishy insides.

"Well. Isn't that something." He mused, flicking a small nub of meat he found inside around.

"What?" The Other asked, honestly interested.

He giggled. "The inside of a nipple is  _very_ squishy!"

The Other snorted.

Removing his thumb, he repeated what he just did to the right nipple, grating away at the nub, slow and steady.

He even inserted his thumb again, feeling small strips of flesh tickling at the digit through his glove.

After a few more minutes of playing around, he extracted his thumb, smile tugging at him. Popping his back some, he took a step back to admire his work.

"Beautiful." The Other admired.

Staring at his dying, if not dead already friend, he came to a stunning realization.

"Yes. Yes it is." He answered truthfully.

~~0~~0~~0~~

"This- this is just  _sick._ "

Wendy gave a slow nod in agreement, mouth hanging open slightly, eyes wide at the scene before her.

And it  _was_ a scene.

The man, identified as local Henry Wye, was currently propped up against a tree on the side of a country road. Unlike the other bodies, this one had obviously been moved from the actual place the murder took place. If it wasn't for the 'I'M SORRY' written on the side of the road, Wendy wouldn't of thought the crime was done by her killer.

_Her killer?_

Wendy shook the thought from her head violently, a bitter scowl taking place over the shock.

The redhead took a step closer to Henry Wye. He was tied to the tree, his left hand tied way up high, hand wrapped tightly around a bloody switchblade while his left hand cradled a completely clean cheese grater. His shirt had been cut open, nipples gone and replaced by crusty blood. His right toes seemed to have gotten the same treatment all five of them covered in clotting blood as flies started to gather around.

That wasn't the worse part of it all, however. No, not by a long shot.

His face was ripped apart.

Not off. Apart.

His face was ripped into two distinct parts by the lips. His two cheek flaps hung loosely, only thin strings of flesh holding them together. His tongue was nothing more than a dry pulp in his mouth, nearly unidentifiable.

Wendy flicked her eyes upward to look at the empty brown orbs that once held life.

That had family.

That had friends.

That had  _dreams_.

All torn away.

Wendy quirked a bitter smile.

Literally.

"It's the Statue of Liberty." A horrified feminine voice said shakily.

Wendy glanced to the blonde cop next to her. She was a little green in the face, lips tugged downward, revulsion in her eyes.

"The switchblade is the torch and th- the cheese grater is the tome." Despite the horror in front of them, the cop didn't stutter. Much.

Wendy turned back to the corpse, narrowing her eyes.

Indeed, it was mimicking the pose of the famous statue.

"Fucker." Wendy cursed.

"Didn't this guy start up in New York?" The blonde cop asked.

The redhead hissed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yeah." She replied brokenly, reminded of how much of a failure she's been, memory of the phone call coming back.

They had a hair.

They had found a fucking hair.

But it wasn't enough. The hair had been destroyed. No DNA could be extracted.

The only other lead had gone up in smoke.

Biting back tears of her most recent failure in her case, Wendy shook herself back into the present.

"-I think, at least."

Wendy winced. "Um, can you repeat that?" She asked the cop sheepishly, slightly embarrassed by getting caught up in her own thoughts.

The blonde gave her a tired look of understanding. "I said do you think this is the last murder? I mean, he started in New York and this victim is posed like Lady Liberty. Like, this is the sign that he's done."

Wendy blinked and mulled over the theory before shaking her head. "No. I don't think so. He kills two people per state and this is his first in Oregon."

"And how do you know it's his first?" She challenged not unkindly.

The redhead sighed. "I don't, really. But we're still pretty close to the state lines and...well, intuition I guess."

The cop nodded sagely. "Following your gut feeling. That's a good thing." She frowned. "Have any ideas why Mister Henry Wye here is posed like the Statue of Liberty?"

Wendy leaned her weight to her left, putting her head in her right hand, glancing up at the green foliage above in deep thought.

"Well...originally, going into New York by boat, you'd see the Statue first right? Before the city."

"...Yeah?"

"Maybe...this is the first before the last."

"You think he's telling us that the next kill will be his last?"

Wendy sighed, letting both hands dangle at her side, shoulder's drooping.

"I think so."

_And I don't know whether to be relieved..._

_Or terrified._

~~0~~0~~0~~

The funeral was a quiet and personal affair.

True, it wasn't a  _real_ funeral. Hell, the grave didn't even have a  _body_ in it.

Not like there was a body left, however.

Fresh tears leaked out of her eyes, chilling her. Heart twisted up and torn out, Wendy was a mix between feeling emotionally and mentally overloaded, numb, and just plain  _depression_.

The redhead stiffened as a heavy arm wrapped around her shoulders, shaking as she was pulled in for a side hug.

Wendy hugged Soos back, her co-worked and friend sniffing heavily, tears like thick waterfalls running down his red face.

He, just like her, was stuck. Overloaded with everything that happened.

Disbelief.

Shock.

Horror.

Anger.

Fear.

Betrayal.

And more shock.

It was the shock that got to her.

She could still remember how she went up in unnatural green flames, the magical energy licking hungrily on her skin, destroying her bright pink sweater, melting her flesh together. How her mocha eyes that were full of so much  _life_ and  _beauty_ and  _dreams_ were then widened in  _horror_ ,  _shock_ , and  _agony_.

How everyone was now feeling horror, shock, and agony.

Wendy closed her eyes and leaned into her co-worker, her numbing tears never stopping.

With her vision gone, she could revel in the blackness, she could pretend that the world, that reality itself wasn't real.

But her mind wouldn't let that happen.

Wendy couldn't escape from her thoughts, her memories.

No one could.

She could still see Mabel burning and screaming.

She could still see Stan running to try and dispel the flames.

She could still see Dipper.

Crying.

Laughing.

Hands bathed in magical green fire.

Unhurt.

Wendy's very soul cried out in pain of what happened, twisting itself up, tearing itself out, crushed into nothing.

She could still hear herself screaming into her cellphone, desperate to get a cop or fireman or  _something._ __  
  
How, just as the darkening night was illuminated by sharp and flashing ref and blue, the green flame died out.

The smell of burning wood and human pierced her nose, causing her to vomit and afterwords, dry heave.

She could still remember the screaming, the yelling, the disgust, and the questions.

How she sat on the grass, curled in on herself as everything exploded around her.

Though, as confusing and terrible as that night was, there was two recurring images that plagued her mind.

That would plague her mind in all the years to come.

The look on Stan's face as his nephew was escorted to the police car...

...and Dipper's hysteric sobbing laughter.

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Kh zdv lqvdqh wr ehjlq zlwk._

~~0~~0~~0~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret nothing.  
> A chapter a day early because tomorrow is the last day of school for me! And it's not even a full day I literally go to school for 2 hours to sit in the band hall and do nothing, then go back home.  
> Life is good. And I'm kinda happy and feeling very generous, so here you go.
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, but the next is the longest so that makes up for something I think.  
> Either way, 2 more chapters to go! Hope you guys are excited!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys liked this early chapter and, as always, thanks for reading!


	7. I'm Just a Poor Boy

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Pb suhflrxv Slqh Wuhh,_

~~0~~0~~0~~

The cemetery in Gravity Falls was just as she remembered it to be.

Old.

Run down.

And slightly creepy.

Wendy squared her shoulders, gripping the bouquet of flowers she had tighter to herself. Putting one fort in front of the other slowly, the redhead walked down the dirt paths, old memories washing over her.

That one Halloween they threw a party. She had gotten so drunk she couldn't even stand.

Stopping a Necromancer trying to raise an army of the undead.

Watching clouds with a group of fiends and a young pair of bright eyed twins...

Wendy came to a stop under a small tree with dying leaves, staring at the graves in front of her.

The one on the left was older and slightly cracked from erosion. A few leaves dusted the top, dry and crackly.

_Mabel Pines_ __  
_2000-2028_ __  
_A loving sister and friend_ _  
_ _Brightened up everyone's day_

Wendy felt fresh and sour tears leak out of weary tear ducts, painting her cheeks with the clear and salty liquid.

Bending down stiffly, she placed half of the bouquet down, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes.

"Mabel." Wendy choked. "I-I miss you."

Wendy placed a hand over her mouth.

Even after all this time, she couldn't help but sob.

Wendy let out a shaky sigh and turned to the other grave next to it.

Unlike Mabel, his was newer. No cracks were in the sturdy stone, but there was a pile of leaves on the top, along with long clumps of grass gathered around the sides.

_Oren 'Dipper' Pines_ _  
_ _2000-2032_

Unlike Mabel, her brother didn't have any sort of epitaph on his grave.

There was nothing that could be said about the male half of the duo.

Nothing at all.

Wendy shivered and collapsed to her knees, wrapping her arms around her torso tightly.

There wasn't even anything in either graves. Both were just simple markers to show where they had fun every summer, where they loved and grew, the place that held love and warmth and was  _home._ __  
  
Gravity Falls was the town they loved.

Gravity Falls is the town they died in.

Wendy uncurled her arms from herself and proceeded to drop the rest of the flowers on Dipper's grave, heart heavy.

Even after all these years, she could remember the court ruling of insanity.

She could remember him being escorted into some mental institution.

And the news three years later that his corpse was found suspended from the ceiling, bed sheets and towels tied together in a makeshift noose around his throat.

Dipper didn't really have a funeral. His body was cremated, unlike Mabel's and was thrown into the wind to be forgotten.

The reception consisting of herself, Soos, and Stan was a somber and painful affair. It was hard to remember someone fondly when all you could see was green flames and the expression of madness across their face.

When all you could hear was their hysteric laughter.

Wendy lifted herself slowly from the ground, bits of grass sticking to her.

It had been very hard.

It was still very hard.

Wendy blinked her eyes hard, staring at the graves with a blank expression.

It would always be hard.

Wendy rolled her shoulders and forced her lips to twist into a grimace.

Though her limbs were heavy with her own sorrows, though her mind was paralyzed with the terrible memories from the past, though Wendy felt everything and nothing at the same time, the redhead forced herself to turn away from what was left of her best friends- her family, and walk down the too-familiar dirt pathways.

She had a killer to find.

~~0~~0~~0~~

"I'm home." He murmured.

He stood high above the town, looking over the worn buildings on top of a hill, forest to his back.  
His dark eyes roamed over the homes, the shops, the people. How many years had it been? How long has it been since he had been home?

A very long time.

He couldn't keep track of time very well.

Like many things nowadays.

"Is it how you remembered?" The Other purred into his ear.

"No. But yes at the same time." He answered. Turning away from the Other, he went up to the Angel who hung just outside the tree line, arms wrapped tight around herself.

"Don't you want to see Gravity Falls?" He asked softly, offering an un-gloved hand to her.

The Angel stared up at him, cheeks per mentally stained with tears, her blackened skin shiny with the liquid.

She stared at that hand. That hand that petted her head and lead her to sleep.

That hand that hurt her.

That hand pulled her out of danger more times than she could count.

That hand that hurt others.

That hand had squeezed her tightly with love.

The Angel stood up by herself, without any help.

He frowned slightly at her, but stared on in sad understanding. Without touching her, he lead her to the edge of the hill.

The Angel stared down at the town. Indeed, much had stayed the same since the last time she was here, yet much had changed as well.

Gravity Falls was a place where history met with the ideas of tomorrow and preserved both into a perfect and even blend.

It was beautiful.

"Please stop." The Angel whispered so quietly and brokenly that she could barely hear herself.

He heard her though. Loud and clear.

The Angel couldn't hide anything from him.

"One more. And that will be the last." He replied apathetically.

The Angel didn't tear her eyes from the town.

"Why?" She gasped. After all this time, all this carnage and gore, she had to hear a reason, she had to get one.

His lips quirked into a small and pleasant smile. "You'll see. I'm doing all of this for you, after all."

The Angel let out a shattered sob, soul splintered into sharp shards.

"I know." She gasped.

He stepped closer to her, almost touching her.

"I love you." He whispered into her ear.

The Angel bit her lip.

"I know."

~~0~~0~~0~~

Sandra Cher

Omar Pzar

Hillary Smith

David O'Conner

Valerie Elder

Helga Schwarz

Irma Storm

Ruth Maer

Ulysses Mann

Jordyn Tiere

Lindy Lowe

Yancy Love

Harold Cooke

Phoebe Fane

Hayden Miles

Peter Wund

Donna Shafter

Elaine Hermil

Henry Wye

Wendy stared down at the list she created, chewing on her pencil viciously.

Correlation. Correlation. Correlation.

There had to be a pattern. She had to figure it out.

If there truly was only one person left, she had to do everything in her power to try and save the last victim before they even became a victim.

Wendy shuddered as she stared out the window.

Gravity Falls.

It had to be a coincidence, right? Or perhaps her killer was just passing through...

But Henry Wye was found on the road to the town.

Posed like Lady Liberty.

Wendy huffed out a shuddering breath.

It would be here. She knew it in her gut, in her bones, in her very soul.

Gravity Falls. Of course it would be in her home town, where the supernatural roamed wild and free, a mystery to everything and everyone.

Where nothing was what it seemed.

And where trust was hard to come by.

It had to be Gravity Falls.

Wendy placed her head on the desk, right on top of her list. Breathing out through her mouth, the redhead could feel her hot and sticky breath reflect back at her. Wrinkling her nose at the foul smell, she sat back up, propping her head in her hands.

"Come on. Think." She hissed, throwing herself back into her thoughts. "There has to be something..."

The redhead shuffled through her papers, every document about every murder. The drill. The brown hair.

Even the coincidental (it  _had_ to be) red screwdriver.

From the beginning kills of just a knife through the throat to carving out certain organs to full on torture, she spread everything out, staring at the time line of her killer. From his birth on the east coast in the city that never sleeps all the way out into old Gravity Falls, a nowhere town in a nowhere state.

Wendy growled as the clock ticked the time away.

The redhead traced her fingers over the pages once more, ignoring their shaking.

There was something here.

She just knew it.

Wendy listed off the names again, shoved all the pictures side by side, compared the simple knife through Sandra Cher's neck to the intricate murder of the recently deceased Henry Wye.

Snarling, Wendy whipped around and kicked the wall, causing fresh waves of pain to shoot through her foot. Grabbing the pained toes, the redhead sat back down in her seat, suddenly exhausted.

She was so tired.

So very tired.

She was done with this, done with these murders, done with this confusion, done with being alone.

Done, done, done.

Without looking at the documents, she stacked them together neatly, careful not to bend them and placed the pages back into their thick folder.

Leaning back into her chair, eyes heavy but mind unable to rest, Wendy pulled out the one thing that always seemed to calm her down in the most somber of ways.

Journal number three.

The redhead dropped it in front of her, staring at the old thing.

Reaching out, she lightly dusted her hand across the cover, trying her best to block out the memories of it's last owner.

Sighing, Wendy opened it's pages and read the opener once again,

_'June 18,_

_It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began researching the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls, Oregon._

_In all my travels, never have I observed so many curious things! Gravity Falls is indeed a geographical oddity.'_

Dejected, she lazily flipped through the pages once again, watching at the original fading black ink become brighter, as more color entered through, as obvious ink splatters became more noticeable.

Usually, she avoided the pages in the back, opting to read the original writer's voice instead of Dipper's.

She flipped another page.

Like the original author, Dipper took great pride going into detail of every new creature he had found in the woods. Half-sketches in glittery pink pen were drawn next to large paragraphs detailing information about the creature.

Wendy blinked as some of the paragraphs transitioned into Latin. Her eyes darted to random corners filled with binary code of some sort.

Then, she paused as she turned to a page completely encoded.

There were no drawings on this page, just crooked handwriting and ink splatters from broken pens.

Wendy stared down at the English lettering, vaguely remembering Dipper explaining to her what a cipher was.

Gazing down at the journal, Wendy wondered briefly what it said and if she could decode it.

Flipping randomly through the book, Wendy tried to see if she could hunt down the key for the cipher used to encode the journal.

Though she didn't find a key, even after leafing through the book three times, she did find brief mentions of something called the Caesarian Shift, a simple cipher that shifted the entire alphabet over.

Bored and still upset about the lack of progress she was making, Wendy pulled out some blank sheets of notebook paper and a pencil and started to write out the alphabet. Getting through the entire thing, she wrote a second alphabet next to it, but shifted the entire thing over one so that A lined up with B and C lined up with D and so on, making a simple key.

Smiling at her easy success, Wendy played around with her new found code, writing her name, 'Wendy Corduroy' out to be 'Xfoez Dpsevspz.'

Shaking her head, she wrote out a few more simple sentences, starting to get a feel for the translated words.

Pausing in her writing to shake kinks out of her wrist, Wendy glanced back up at the folder, frowning at both it and herself.

People were dying, and she was playing around with a silly code.

Cursing at herself for falling so easily to a distraction, she shoved the journal and paper over to the side and opened the folder again, spreading out the documents that lied inside.

And once again, Wendy dived headfirst into her work.

And once again, she compared everything together, read a list of the patterns she knew the killer had, put each and every picture side by side, each murder, each weapon, each 'I'M SORRY.'

And once again, nothing.

Rubbing her eyes, Wendy took out her phone to check the time.

It was two-thirteen in the morning.

Wendy yawned.

She was so tired.

But she couldn't sleep. She  _wouldn't_ sleep until she solved this.

_Solved it..._

Wendy's eyes darted over to the cipher she created.

Her heart started thumping madly in her thin chest.

Her mind exploded at the epiphany she had.

"No." She gasped, reaching over for her cipher.

"No." She repeated, grabbing a sheet of paper with all the victims names on it.

"No." She hissed.

Wendy worked quickly, cycling through the alphabet, matching first letters together, her wrist aching with pain, wood creaking dangerously in her hand as she held onto her pencil ever tighter.

Wendy stared down at what she wrote.

"Impossible." She whispered, voice, body, and mind trembling.

Wendy let out a screaming sob.

~~0~~0~~0~~

"Sit back and enjoy the show."

"Oh, you know I will!" The Other laughed.

Stepping over knocked over shelves and dodging around the blackened weak places on the floor, he went over to his very last friend, a single Owen Dale.

Owen Dale was currently handcuffed, chains tied around the deformed wooden planks that used to pattern. The friend- stuck in a painful kneeling position, could only glare up at his kidnapper, duct tape circling his mouth, keeping it firmly shut.

"This is what it's all about! No talking, no foreplay, just get right into it and enjoy it!" The Other cooed into his ear.

He quirked a strange smile. "I thought you would like playing around. I thought you would like a game of cat and mouse."

"Gotta know when to play, and when to work. Trust me."

"I do trust you. But is this work or play?" He asked.

The Other smirked. "You know the answer."

He stood there and stared down at his victim, letting brown orbs meet brown.

Owen Dale had fear- pure and true terror in his eyes. Paralyzed, unable to move, speak, or even  _think,_  all he could do was listen to the madman hovering above him talking to himself.

"Yes I do." He said in finality. Without missing a beat, he took out a package of new forks, bought from IKEA.

Owen Dale owned the same forks.

The irony was lost to the madman, but not to Owen Dale, who started chuckling bitterly to himself.

If the madman cared or even noticed, he didn't say anything.

He cracked open the package of forks and quickly undid the ties. Pulling out a single metal utensil, he briefly studied the floral patterns in the handle before crouching down next to Owen Dale's side, grinning slightly.

"The last one." He purred, lightly tracing Owen Dale's cheek with his fork, thin metal prongs causing the tied up man to shiver slightly.

"Then I'll be done. We'll be completed. She will thank me."

Owen Dale squeezed his eyes shut. The darkness behind his lids more welcoming than the situation he was in.

The fork was removed.

"She'll  _love_  me again." He spat brokenly, voice thick with tears.

He plunged the fork deep into Owen Dale's forearm.

Owen Dale made an odd, muffled cry of pain as he felt the cold metal slip into his flesh, dull prongs digging deep and ripping.

He watched the fork hungrily as the utensil was submerged into the chubby meat, blood bead around the prongs a little, only a few small drops slip out and down, flattening hair as it went.

He let go of the handle slowly, watching the utensil stay standing up perfectly, caught in the tangle of skin in the man.

Stray tears trailed down Owen Dale's cheeks, broken out under thin lashes. Agony splintered up his arm, putting his nerves on fire, trailing up his spine and attacking his mind, erasing any thoughts he might of had.

He took out another fork, spinning it between two of his fingers. Once again, energy filled him, magic granting him strength he normally wouldn't have. The runes he had carved into his arms long ago glowed as he took the fork and thrust it into Owen Dale's other arm, feeling the skin give away and break under his blunt force. The metal fought to cut through the man's arm, dull tips moving sluggishly through muscle and fat, blood beading in his paralleled wounds.

A dark smirk crossed his features as excitement filled him. Mouth watering with the feel of power and control he held, he dug the utensil in as far as he could, breathing in the man's fear deeply and wholly.

He was  _feeling._

He was doing what he had to do.

He was fixing his mistake.

Owen Dale let out a muffled howl of pain around his taped mouth, his tears growing thicker. Pain, once again, shocked his nerves, zapping his brain with it's sharpness and cruelty. Screams dying into pathetic whimpers, Owen Dale could do nothing but lay on the ground and wait for his- his  _killer_ to continue.

Owen Dale's soul flinched at the thought.

Like before, he left the fork in his arm, loving the site of the utensils causing someone else pain.

Next to his ear, the Other whispered words of encouragement, causing his heart to pump faster. Energy, all natural and non-magical course through him, fueled by the words, fueled by the sight before him, fueled at the very thoughts of what was to come next.

Untangling the third fork he had, he once again slipped it between his fingers, enjoying the weight of the simple tool. Straightening himself up, he rolled his head and neck, cracking the kinks out. Wiggling his torso back and forth to get the stiffness out of his back, he went ahead and straddled his last friend, sitting right over his slightly portly stomach.

Grinning down at the pure  _terror_ on his friend's face, he let the fork rest on the tip of his nose, putting the end of the handle on Owen Dale's chin, letting it balance there.

"Now...what could we do next?" He asked the man lying underneath him.

The Others' hands brushed over his shoulders, causing sparks of magic to run down his skin.

"It's all up to you." He cooed in his ear. "Your the one in control now. Just like you've always wanted."

"Yeah." He choked out in response. "Me. I'm in control. I- I can do  _whatever_ I want."

The Other didn't bother replying; he simply rubbed small circles onto his back before removing his warm hands, leaning away from him so he could get into a better position to watch.

Deciding to leave the fork balanced for now, he tore out the fourth fork from his first package of five. Tracing the floral patterns on the handle gently, he lowered the utensil so it would hover right over Owen Dale's right eye.

Said blue eye widened in horror, pupils dilated with fear. The larger man tried to squirm, tried to buck his hips to get his soon-to-be killer off and away from him but with Owen Dale's position, along with the loss use of limbs and the unnatural strength of his would-be-killer, he could do nothing but sit, stare, and wait as the fork took up his whole vision, becoming fuzzy and out of focus as it did so.

With a simple flick of the wrist, he plunged the fork into Owen Dale's eye, digging it deep into soft, gooey substance.

Owen Dale let out another muffled scream, body twitching violently, as agony sparked and caught fire on his face. Blood and tears spurted out, a spray that sickened him. His vision, cut off by the violet act, could only focus on the fuzzy grin that his killer had.

He twisted the fork in deeper, hearing the eyeball  _squelch_ at his movements. The white of the now broken eye quickly turned red as blood and other juices ran. Scraping the fork on the bottom of the socket, he listened to the screams below him as he worked his way up and next to the actual nerves. Striking where he was aiming for, he started prodding at the fleshy strings, lightly tearing at them, grinning all the way.

Owen Dale's screams peeked as his killer finally decided to rip the nerves in half. Voice hoarse from the abuse, he could do nothing but make odd grunts and whimpers of pain as the fork jerked out of his socket, tearing out half his eye doing so.

He stared at the blood on the fork before letting his dark eyes fall on the gore he just created deep in his friend's head. Thick blood, pus, and tears leaked out of the nearly empty hole, rest of the sensitive eye nothing more than a unrecognizable mush. His friend's other eye was blown wide with pain and most likely shock. Though he couldn't see his friend's mouth, he knew that if it was uncovered, it would be wide open in soundless agony.

Letting his dark eyes meet his friend's other one, he smiled and without hesitation, stabbed the same fork deep into his last eye, this time swirling the prongs around the socket, listening to the sharp, distressed sounds made by his friend harmonize with the sound of cheap metal against bone.

The eye slowly became a disgusting, matching mush, red bleeding into white while more juices traced a trail of tears down the cheek, both matching now.

"Hehe, it's like spaghetti!" He giggled almost childishly, glancing over at the Other for a comment.

The Other just stared at him with amusement, not offering a single thought on his statement. Flashing him an almost innocent loving smile, he turned back to his friend.

Ripping the prongs through the nerves like before, he tore the fork out, the stringy bits of his nervous system wound tightly.

Lifting the fork to his mouth, he slipped the stringy fleshy substance onto his tongue, rolling it over his palate, teeth working at the strands, gnashing it into a pulp before letting it slide down his throat into his stomach.

He smacked his lips together, enjoying the metallic taste of blood and the odd taste of man.

Too bad his friend couldn't see him now.

The thought brought a chuckle to him.

Looking at his now mostly-clean fork, he briefly wondered what else he could do. Allowing his eyes to roam over the pained face in front of him, he finally settled on the glistening neck, watching beads of sweat trickle down pale skin with rapt attention. Smile curling wider, baring too many teeth, he lowered the used utensil on the man's throat, right on his Adam's apple, feeling the hard lump wobble.

"This will be perfect." He mumbled, pressing the flat of the fork down harder on the lump, causing Owen Dale to let out an odd whimper.

In a flash, he turned the fork around to dig the prongs into the protrusion and stabbed into the hard bulge with the dulled prongs, a torn scream crying out from his attacked throat.

Digging the prongs deeper, he couldn't stop the purring hiss escaping between his teeth as more beads of blood slipped out. Tightening his hold on the fork, he focused on carving out the lump from the throat, thrusting in a downward motion as if to tear it away completely.

Unfortunately, even with his magic-induced strength, he couldn't quite get the angle right to do a simple tear. Getting frustrated and impatient for once, he simply ripped the fork away messily, half of his friend's Adam's apple coming with it.

Owen Dale let out a hoarse but wet cry, voice weak.

"I'm getting tired of all their screaming." He complained to no one in particular, digging the fork back into the gaping wound that was left, twirling it around some, letting it bite deeper into ruby red flesh.

No one responded to his statement.

He dug ever deeper, loving the feel of blood-drenched skin giving way from his strength and tool. Wriggling the fork around some, he happily started to tear at where he guessed the vocal cords were, finally getting through the tough lump that was the Adam's apple.

Owen Dale's shattered whimpers died.

Finishing up the mess that was now Owen Dale's throat, he removed the fork and once again raised it to his lips, licking off the blood and bits of flesh caught on the prongs, enjoying the feel of power that coursed through him as life burned down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Feeling his magic crackle beneath his skin, he proceeded to let small green flames dance on the pads of his fingertips. Lowering the digits, he burned away the gag he used, freeing Owen Dale's mouth.

And as he expected, Owen Dale's mouth was wide open in horror, the only real expression he could have currently.

Grabbing the man's mouth, he pried his jaws open. Shoving his finger in Owen Dale's cheeks, he held the mouth open while he took his used and tapped it against his teeth.

"Let's see...I've already done something with a tongue... _Oh,_ I have an idea." He continued, watching in fascination as blood bubbled at the very back of his friend's throat.

Removing the fork, he rubbed his thumb along the man's upper teeth, feeling the bumps through his gloves. Moving the pad upwards, he felt along the gums where the teeth melded with the red, sensitive flesh.

"I think that will do nicely. You have pretty white teeth, you must go to the dentist often."

He bared his slightly yellowed incisors.

"Haven't been to the dentist in a long time, though I do make sure to brush at least once a day. Don't want them to fall out, after all."

He jabbed the fork in an upwards angle, scraping the gums away, scratching the teeth terribly.

Blood bubbled at the wound of his throat and in the back of his neck.

"Oh, no you don't." He growled. "You're the last, so you must take the longest"

Balancing the utensil so it wouldn't slip off and fall, he shoved the sleeves of his jacket back. Scooping up some blood with his fingers, he greedily licked off the red liquid, watching the runes carved and tattooed along his arms from long ago burn red from the energy he was getting along with the spell he was preparing. Shifting his weight so he was sitting on his friend's stomach, he placed his left hand over Owen Dale's heart and right on his friend's forehead.

Smirking, his hands were engulfed by a sharp red light that trailed down and encompassed his friend's head and chest.

Owen Dale's broken eye lids fluttered.

His breathing caught and speed up.

The man started twitching.

His runes continued their glow, albeit duller.

He panted slightly at the exertion.

"Good." He gasped, moving forward so he was back on Owen Dale's chest.

Grabbing the handle of the fork once again, he worked at the pearly whites inside the red mouth, slowly digging behind in the roots of each tooth and pulling them out using the prongs one by one.

"Did you know I have a sister? When we were young, we used to play animal doctor together." He spoke randomly while removing the second tooth and placing it on Owen Dale's chest next to the first. "For whatever reason, we were also dentists as well as doctors. And nurses too. Six-year-old's don't understand how hospitals or dentist offices work."

Stabbing the prongs down at a sheer angle, he cut away at the sticky stings of gum that refused to let go of the tooth.

"C'mon. Don't be like this." He complained.

Snorting out a sound of triumph after he finally stabbed it out, he dropped it next to the other two.

He worked diligently on a few more teeth, eyes wide, starting to breath heavily.

"This is what you get when you use magic like this. I'll need something stronger." He gasped, placing the tenth tooth next to the other nine. "And I can't use teeth..."

Giving a weak smirk, he swung his body around so that he was facing the man's body and not his face. Lapping blood and small strings of gum off his fork, he rolled his shoulders.

"I have an idea, but I'm going to need more than a fork." the thought almost saddened him.

Rolling off the man's chest, he slipped into the long-abandoned kitchen.

He ignored the thick dust that was settled everywhere.

He ignored the scorch marks still visible even after all the years.

He ignored the way everything was still in place since  _that day._

The day everything went  _so_ wrong, yet  _so_ right at the same time.

"Here we go!" He cheered as he grabbed the biggest chef's knife he could find, testing the tip and blade for sharpness. "This will do perfectly."

He returned to the room that had once been a gift shop.

"Sorry that I couldn't do all of this with just forks." He told the Other, settling back down on Owen Dale's chest.

The Other shook his head. "Hey, this is supposed to be  _your_ enjoyment, so it's  _your_ call. However..."

The Other stepped in closer and crouched down, placing his small forehead on his, lightly trailing his fingers across his flesh, causing him to shudder in sick delight.

_The joy of being touched..._

"...I won't lie. I do enjoy the show you're putting on."

He gave the Other a small and cheerful smile. Not taking his eyes of the being, he grabbed the two folds of skin he created and peeled them back, exposing the insides of his torso. With a little magic, he pinned the folds back into his sides using more forks he had.

Taking off his gloves, he ran bare hands over the insides of the folds, feeling fresh blood collect. Bringing them up to his mouth, he licked and sucked the liquid off, salty and metallic.

Bringing his eyes back to the organs laid bare before him, he sat and simply watched their frenzied processing. The ripple of the stomach, the pulsating of the liver, the wriggle of the intestines.

It was beautiful in the most disgusting way.

Grabbing his fork, he stabbed the utensil deep into the open stomach.

The flimsy flesh of the sack split surprisingly easily under his magicked strength and dull prongs. Thick, clearish liquid burst out.

Stomach acid.

He tore the fork to the right, cutting the organ open in a violent and unprofessional way. More acid spilled out at a faster rate, burning away the outside of the slick organ as well as the intestines. The stench was absolutely horrendous, sour and putrid.

He wrinkled his nose slightly, the scent of the insides of a stomach a bit too strong, but continued anyways, dragging the fork to the other side to open the rip wider.

After watching the acid burn and pool a bit longer, he moved on.

Opening his last packet of forks with his slicked hands, he pulled out a second utensil to use.

"I'm gonna speed this up some. I have a few  _other_ things to do after this, unfortunately."

Owen Dale could say nothing. All the poor man knew was the pressure on his very soul keeping it from flying far, far away from the splintering and overwhelming pain that was coursing through him like lightening. Every nerve in his body was being disintegrated at the same time in loop over and over and over and over and over and...

His thoughts were nonexistent.

He could not think anymore.

Owen Dale's killer took both knifes and started to try and remove the liver.

However, pure magical strength alone wasn't going to cut through. Hissing out a spell, the runes sparked with a green light briefly, sharpening the forks to be mini daggers.

He tried his best to carve out the liver. Though he had dissected some animals before, it had always been the blood or heart he needed, not the liver.

Livers were very different from hearts.

And humans were very different from beasts.

Still, he tried his best to cut around the organ, chipping at the stomach a bit as he did so along with many other fleshy strings and odd pulsating shapes that he knew nothing of, really.

He finally sliced through the organ, separating the majority of it from the body. Lifting it up in his hands, he stared down at his messy work, at the large chunks of the liver still trapped inside the torso, at the lumpy shape now secreting all sorts of liquids onto his hands.

Bringing the vital organ up to his mouth, he nibbled out a small piece, rolling it around his mouth almost like a fine wine, seeing if it appealed to him.

Puckering his lips and wrinkling his nose, he swallowed the small piece before dropping the liver into the stomach, watching the acid left do it's best to attack the detached organ.

"Ugh. That was gross." He complained. "Think I'm going to stick to blood and hearts."

The Other voiced his agreement gleefully.

Taking his forks in his fists once again, he started to randomly stab at the intestines provided to him, punctures appearing everywhere as he did so. Once again, weird fluid spurted out some of the wounds he inflicted, coating his hands even more.

It was warm, if a bit gross.

Getting bored with the stabbing a few minutes in, he took to raking the forks across the intestines instead, ripping them open easy enough. More liquid and small pieces of nearly developed feces fell out, much to his disgust.

He may not like showering all that much, but even he didn't like having someone's shit on him.

Wiping his hands off on his friend's pants, he threw his pair of now ruined forks away and untied another pair, stabbing them straight into the kidneys. Twirling them in slow circles, he watched as strips of the organ get wrapped around the prongs, tangled and bloody.

Deciding to leave both utensils jutting out, he reached down and grabbed his last pair, chuckling to himself as he did so.

"Looks like I have just enough. What a coincidence!" He said.

Sharpening the prongs with a few more whispered words, he raked them down the last organ he wanted to mutilate: The bladder.

Digging one in deeply, he watched piss leak out and join all the other disgusting fluids that leaked out of his friend's body.

"Human bodies are disgusting." The Other complained lightly, watching him work with rapt attention, eye never blinking.

He nodded slowly in agreement.

Getting an idea, he straightened his strokes with the forks, cutting out a long thin line. Shifting the utensil, he sliced two more lines perpendicular to the first one, etching out a crude triangle.

The Other laughed in amusement.

"I don't know whether I should be touched or revolted!" He cheered.

Letting out a sharp breath, he finally released his friend's soul from his oppressive magic, the strain he had relaxing into tiredness.

"A bit of both, I suppose."

He stood up and dipped his fingers into more blood. He'd need a nice, thick coat.

He walked over to the counter.

Right next to the abandoned register, he wrote out his needed words.

I'M SORRY.

It was a slow process, putting magic into every stroke.

But when he was done, he gave a small smile full of childlike innocence, hope, and a little sadness.

"I really am sorry." He whispered.

The Angel's voice cracked from the corner she had curled up in, broken and hopeless.

"That changes nothing."

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Brx'yh ehhq d mrb wr zdwfk..._

~~0~~0~~0~~


	8. I Need No Sympathy

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Brx vhhp vr wluhg._

~~0~~0~~0~~

The shack was just how she remembered it  _that night_.

The second story was blackened and twisted in on itself, attested to the green flames that had consumed it. However, despite the violence that occurred, the first floor hadn't been touched whatsoever. Smoke hadn't even clogged the rooms down below.

_Like magic..._

Wendy hissed through her teeth, mind on edge, veins pumping pure adrenaline through her system, heart thudding so hard she thought it would burst right out of her chest.

The Mystery Shack.

The tourist trap that was the only real reason for anyone to actually visit Gravity Falls.

The place she got her first job, which also happened to be the only place that wanted to hire her.

That summer so many years ago, meeting what would be her best friends, a pair of interesting twins who were as similar as they were different.

That summer, which lead to the realization that the supernatural was real, magic existed, and everything that went  _bump_ in the night was hundreds of times more terrifying than what you had read about.

Wendy bit the inside of her cheek, drawing blood.

Her hands trembled, one clutching the notebook paper with messy scrawls that revealed the truth and the other holding onto a battered red journal with a three written inside a six-fingered hand print.

Wendy lifted her right foot and started to stride forward.

She wasn't so sure what gave her the strength to move forward, what gave her the courage to settle herself and start towards the end.

Because that's what this was, right? This  _was_ the end. Where the hero meets the villain. Where the hero and villain fight. Where the hero will defeat said villain. Where the hero would  _truly_ be a hero.

Wendy didn't feel like a hero.

She felt like a scared little girl.

The one that cried when boys yanked on her pigtails.

The one who sobbed when other girls made fun of her obvious freckles splashed across her face.

The one who had a night-light on to scare away the monsters.

The one who ran out of the house screaming at the sight of a spider.

A girl who couldn't support herself, who couldn't do what needed to be done.

But, and it was a  _big_ but, she reminded herself, she wasn't a little girl anymore.

She hadn't been one for a  _very_ long time.

And now it was time to do what needed to be done. To be the hero that defeated the villain in every stereotypical, cliched movie and book.

Wendy stopped before the porch.

Where she and the twins would sit and drink soda and laugh like there wasn't a care in the world.

Where she'd watch Soos fix the door once again because Mabel was too excitable and would always knock it off it's hinges.

Where she broke up with that weird guy once that turned out to be an incubus.

Where she would walk into work everyday to man the register, letting dumb tourists buy over-priced knickknacks and junk from the gift shop located inside.

Wendy stepped onto the first stair, listening over the deafening silence at the small creak that echoed around her, larger than life.

She stepped onto the second- and last stair, right onto the porch.

It was very dusty, the smell of age mixed with nature attacking her nose, causing it to itch.

Sneezing softly, the redhead wiped the back of her hand across her top lip, hoping no snot had come out.

Blinking hard, she stared at the worn-out door before her, memories after memories rolling through her mind like a tide; bad mixed with good, sad tangled with happy, terror coiled around joy.

Head pounding, heart thumping, icy blood rushing, Wendy reached out to the door and gently pushed it open.

And almost vomited.

The stench that assaulted her nose was like  _nothing_ she'd ever smelt before. Even after all the crime scenes she had been at, witnessed, choked upon, nothing, absolutely _nothing_ could prepare her for this.

It wasn't just death. It wasn't just fear. It wasn't just sadness.

This was the smell of pure  _suffering,_ the smell of Satan himself materializing and punishing you for all eternity while nerves still sparked signals of agony through your being.

It was inhumane. Terrible. Monstrous.

It was the scent of evil.

Wendy staggered against the door frame, head spinning a million miles, eyes screwed together tightly. She panted shallowly, the taste of the very air sticking on her tongue and the roof of her mouth, causing her stomach to boil with bile and her taste buds to want to shrivel up and die.

Wendy couldn't relax.

She also couldn't wait.

Steadying her faint breathing, fighting to keep the rolling bile in her stomach, stopping herself from trembling, she shoved herself off the doorway and took a small step into the room. Carefully, trying her best to mentally prepare her already frazzled brain for what she was about to see, she peeled open her eyes to stare at the sight before her.

And promptly vomited all over the floor.

Her sides screamed as she emptied herself violently, mouth open wide, eyes bugging out of her skull, throat burning. It didn't take much for the redhead to empty herself; she hadn't been eating all that much lately, after all. However, even after she rid herself of all her food, bile spilled out between chapped lips, burning and bitter. After the acid ran out, she continued to dry heave, unable to stop the muscle spasms.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the redhead pulled herself off the floor from where she had collapsed, light-headed and still ill. Taking in a shaky breath, she ignored the sour taste that lingered in the back of her throat as well as the desert that took place of her tongue.

She carefully cracked her eyes open again.

Exhausted from the retching she just did, Wendy didn't have the strength to do anything but stare.

The image before her, the horror, the mutilation would always haunt her.

For as long as she lived.

Wendy shook as she drank in the image, her logical part of the mind stuck. She  _knew_ it was a person laying before her, but the mutilation...he? She? Must have went through left the body nearly unrecognizable.

Thick and fresh blood pooled around it, not even hours old. The limbs were tied tightly down, not giving the poor person any chance of escape. The head was flung back against the now terribly stained wood, throat ripped open, blood still trickling out lazily. The mouth was a complete and utter mess as well, stretched but not ripped, gums and teeth torn out violently without a touch of professionalism.

Wendy winced, her stomach still rolling. Taking a few cautious steps forward, the disaster that was the torso slowly became visible.

As soon as the redhead registered the fact that the torso was torn open in two, thick flaps of skin pinned back by forks deep in the person's side, organs a mushy jumble inside, she quickly turned away, brief image haunting her already.

She really did not need to see that.

Fuck, she didn't need to see any of this shit. She didn't want to; she shouldn't  _have_ to.

And yet, here she was, next to a mutilated corpse, choking on the taste of the stench in the air, chasing...chasing...

Wendy shook her head side-to-side violently, letting her long red hair whip all around her.

There.

Right there.

Wendy stilled herself and looked at the dusty counter, fresh red stark and obvious against the worn wood. Stepping closer to the place she always worked, bored out of her mind, she saw, right where she'd rest her arms, the two words that always haunter her, always sent chills down her back...

'I'M SORRY.'

But for  _what?_

For fucking  _what?_

Wendy let a hiss escape through her clenched teeth.

She'd find out soon enough, after all.

She glared down at the simple words, written in too-fresh blood that still shined sharply under the natural light that trickled through the window.

_So fresh..._

So where was her killer? Where did he-?

Wendy slowly turned around, a wisp of an idea forming in her mind.

There it was.

Wendy walked around the mutilated body, giving it a wide berth to avoid stepping into the puddles of blood and other disgusting fluids still seeping into the wood. Forcing herself to face away from the body and all the gore the room held, she turned to an unassuming vending machine next to the door.

An unassuming vending machine which lead to a secret basement under the shack.

An unassuming vending machine propped open with a familiar journal...

Grabbing the edge of the secret door with one hand to keep it open, the redhead bent to to grab the book, almost dropping it in surprise.

It was old.

And red.

With a one drawn in a golden six-fingered hand print.

Using her foot to keep the old door open, she took out the journal she owned, holding them together in comparison.

Though the journal- the  _first_  journal with a one on it was much older than the one she carried, it was obvious that whomever owned it took much better care of it than she did her's, however.

Besides the age and the numbers, both were exactly the same.

Well, nearly.

Putting journal three back into her jacket, she briefly flipped through the first, seeing ramblings of the mysteries of Gravity Falls and some unprofessional drawings of various creatures she had never seen before.

Snapping it close, she slunk into the secret passage, letting the vending machine close behind her with a large  _bang!_

The hallway was short, just as she remembered, curving sharply to the left and leading down a number of stairs to an elevator that looked like it had been ripped straight out on an old sci-fi movie.

Coughing through the dust that took to the air, Wendy held the first book tight to her chest as she slowly walked down each step, feeling the cool cement through her boots.

As Wendy stood before the strange elevator, a small screen next to it started to flash a number of different, random symbols she vaguely remembers seeing in the journal.

Startled, she jumped back, surprised the machinery was reacting to her prescience.

It shouldn't be doing that.

Unless some one programmed it to.

Biting her lip, feeling her heart clench at the obvious implications she knew were true but still too scared to completely accept, she watched as the old doors before her rolled open, slow and steady, creaking from age the entire time.

The inside of the elevator was simple. Metallic. Cold. Dusty.

Another journal sat in the middle of it.

Shivering, Wendy stepped onto the machine, feeling it vibrate uneasily under her feet. Crouching down, she picked up the third old and battered red journal and turned it around.

Old like the others.

Worn, but obviously taken care of quite well.

With a golden six-fingered hand print with a two written inside.

Wendy tucked journal one into her jacket next to journal three. Shakily, she brushed over the two on the journal she was holding, cold sweat gathering in her hands. Blinking hard, she turned an pushed the button labeled number two in the elevator.

The metal box shuddered violently as it's doors closed, weak orange light illuminating the small area she as in.

Wendy descended into the darkness below.

~~0~~0~~0~~

"I-I know you did this for  _me,_  but  _why?_ " The Angel said, arms crossed tightly over her chest, tears staining her cheeks even more, thick brown hair falling framing her face, sticking to it slightly.

"I need you to forgive me. Please." He begged, reaching out to her.

"No! How- how..? What made you  _think_ even for a second that- that doing this would change  _anything?_ __  
  
He wrapped his arms around himself and hugged tightly, his own tears starting to fall.

"But- I thought-"

"Exactly!" The Angel huffed, her voice, which had always shined with cheer now hard and bitter. "You never asked, and even though I told you- told you  _so many times..._ You still didn't listen! You never listen to me!"

"Please!" He gasped. "Please!"

She broke down sobbing. "It's too late. It always has been too late."

He sobbed alongside her, two separate sounds that clashed terribly.

"I know. I  _know._ "

The Angel turned away from him, her still sweater-clad shoulders shaking something terrible.

"This is hell, isn't it?" She moaned. "My own personal hell."

He didn't reply.

"I-I'm done with this." The Angel cried. "I don't want to _be_ here anymore."

"No!" He shouted. "Don't leave!" He grabbed her shoulders and hugged her from behind. "I can't live without you. Please, Mabel. Don't leave me."

Mabel pulled herself away from him, resolution hardened in her heart, soul smothering in a cold and dead fire.

"Yes you can." She hissed, glaring at a being directly behind him. "You've been fine without me. Ever since you- you  _killed me!_ No, before then!" She snarled with finality.

He broke down, collapsing to his knees. The Other wrapped thin arms around his shoulders; a mockery of a true hug.

"Please forgive me, Mabel." He gasped.

But Mabel was gone.

~~0~~0~~0~~

Wendy shivered as the elevator slowly grounded to a halt, the little box swinging about slightly.

The light above the door shined a sickly green color, an arrow pointing to the two printed above.

Feeling ill once again, Wendy knew that no amount of breathing or mental perpetration would make her ready for what was about to happen. Clenching her teeth, she waited as the doors rolled open, and stepped into the room before her.

The first thing she saw were large bookcases that towered high, nearly touching the ceiling, lined up with books and artifacts she'd never seen before. A red light shined from old runes carved into the sides of the shelves, protection from any sort of creatures that might try to harm the place.

High above, weak light filtered through light bulbs, just enough to see where she was going, but nothing more.

Wendy had a feeling that the lights shouldn't be working at all.

Same with the elevator.

Wendy winced as music crackled from the far back, slow and familiar.

It sent shivers down her spine, and not the good kind the song usually gave her.

" _Too late, my time has come."_

" _Sent shivers down my spine."_

Wendy winced as Freddie Mercury's voice filled up the room, old, worn, and static-y.

Wendy closed her eyes once again, breathing deeply. Listening hard at the record, it didn't take her long to pinpoint where exactly the music was coming from.

" _Body's aching all the time..."_

Squaring her shoulders and letting determination and fake bravery shine clear in her green eyes, Wendy strode forward with slightly wobbly steps. Her feet slapped lightly against the cement ground, clacking softly to the beat of the famous song that played in the background.

It reminded the redhead of Mabel, in all honesty. The older twin had always loved songs like these, singing terribly off-key to them while hopping up and down in a crazy dance.

The thought brought a nostalgic smile to Wendy.

_Mabel..._

Wendy rubbed her eyes angrily, taking a left down another corridor in the labyrinth that was the underground library.

The music was getting much louder as the instrumentals took place of the singing, full of life.

A complete and utter contrast to the emotions running through her heart.

Wendy stopped briefly to hold onto a bookcase, feeling dizzy as her mind wandered to what was about to happen.

Part of her wanted to run forward, drawing her gun and firing just to get this over with.

Part of her wanted a full and strong confrontation. The kind of confrontation seen in the movies filled with bitter banter and finality; the kind that would make her the hero.

And yet, another part of her, one of that scared little girl who got scared of the dark wanted to run away. He'd already killed his last, she knew it in her gut.

She knew him as well.

She could run.

And no one would ever know.

The case would eventually go cold and pass into history, right alongside Jack the Ripper and the Zodiac Killings.

But she wasn't a scared girl. She was a woman now with a  _job,_ a moral code. She was ready to bring him- him down. Let the hammer of justice swing on his head and decide his fate, whatever it may be.

_"_ _He's just a poor boy from a poor family."_

_"Spare him his life from this monstrosity..."_

Wendy choked as the lyrics hit her ears, deathly and ironic. It made her sick.

Too bad there was nothing left in her.

She was empty. Nothing but a tangle of emotions lost within herself.

She didn't even know what emotions she was currently  _feeling_.

Didn't know their labels, didn't know the words.

She didn't think what she was going through  _could_ be put into words. The heart was a complicated thing, filled with so much desperation and hope and love and many other things that couldn't quite be described by language alone.

Wendy turned down another corridor, the light getting stronger.

And the music got louder.

And the air got heavier.

" _Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me..."_

Wendy froze as the next big instrumental rang, loud and true through the air, filling her emptiness with glass shards. It was energetic and much too cheerful for her taste.

Wendy closed her hands over her ears, wanting to stop this, all of this to stop stop stop  _stop!_

The music crescendoed once again.

" _So you think you can love me and leave me to die?"_

_"Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby..."_

Wendy broke into a run. She couldn't take this anymore.

Couldn't take  _him._

He knew she was here.

He had been waiting for her.

And she was going to shoot the traitorous bastard down.

And this time, he'd  _stay dead._

Wendy rounded the corner.

The music got even louder. It was booming all around her, threatening in the strangest of ways.

More static came with the heavy lyrics, a clear sign of an old record being played.

The music died down.

Wendy turned to where the spotlight were, where everything converged into...into...

"Nothing really matters. Anyone can see..."

His eyes were closed, head bobbing gently to the music, singing along slightly off-key.

"Nothing really matters. Nothing really matters to meee...~"

His eyes snapped open and fell onto her.

The music cut off.

Deathly silence swallowed the entire room.

All Wendy could here was her erratic heart trying to burst out of her chest.

He was sitting down at a small corner table, an old record right next to him. His head was leaning against the palm of his hand, a look of near boredom on his face.

The first thing she noticed was the suit he was wearing. Old fashioned and black with a  _bow-tie_ of all things.

The second thing she noticed was how much older he was. Taller. Broader shoulders. Skin paler.

The third thing she noticed was how similar he looked to the last time she saw him. Brown hair still fluffy. Eyes still dark brown. Even his button nose still had a slight red tint to it.

Wendy stumbled back slightly, a delayed reaction to a delayed realization. One that she already knew. One that she had struggled to prepare for.

However, no amount of preparing, of whispering, of telling herself what was going to happen and what truths she had revealed would ever be enough for seeing him in the flesh, just as alive as the day he had been born.

"Hey, Wendy." He greeted, as if it hadn't been years since she'd seen him. As if he'd never faked his death. As if he'd never killed all twenty of those poor people to carve a message.

As if he'd never killed Mabel.

Wendy's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. There was so many things she wanted to  _ask_ , to  _demand._

Why?

Why?

Why?

_Why?!_

So many questions, so many different conflicting emotions ran through her, she didn't know how to act, what to say, what to  _express_ , so she simply stood there, frozen to the spot, a forlorn, lost look in her eyes, staring at him.

"D-Dipper?" She finally was able to choke out, tears bubbling behind her eyes but unable to fall.

Dipper gave her a small smile, one that would look more at home on a young five-year-old and not a killer of twenty people.

"In the  _flesh_." He chuckled, slowly standing up and folding his hands behind his back.

It took Wendy a few heartbeats to process what he just said. Realization clicking in, the redhead's blank look morphed into one of anger.

"You  _fucker_." She snapped, back ramrod straight, an inner, hurt fire burning in her emerald gaze.

A light frowned tugged at Dipper's lips, his already insane eyes gaining an edge to her words.

"Well, that's rude, isn't it?" He replied.

"Rude?  _Rude?!_ " Wendy gasped, falling into rage-filled hyperventilation. Red clouded her vision as white-hot lava coursed through her veins. She wanted to grab her gun and empty all her magazines into his head, wanted to run up and punch him square in the face.

She wanted him to  _hurt._

But she still felt paralyzed, limbs like lead weights, too heavy to lift or move.

Wendy didn't know whether it was the oppressive magic buzzing in the air holding her down, or herself.

"Now, now. Calm down, Wendy. We're not going to finish-"

He cut himself off, as if he were interrupted.

"And why should I do that?" Dipper asked the air to the left of him.

The anger drained from the redhead.

She knew he was insane. The hysteric laughter so many years ago told her that. Fuck, that fact that he killed Mabel  _on purpose_ and told the judge that labeled him as a complete and utter psycho. However, seeing this for herself, him talking to something that wasn't even there did the trick.

"You think so?" He continued.

A few more beats of silence dragged out.

Once again, Wendy found herself unable to talk.

Dipper finally nodded sagely, eyes narrowing in thought.

He turned back to her, his dark brown eyes shattered beyond reason.

_Thunk. Thunk._

His footsteps echoed around them deafeningly.

Before she could register what was happening again, before she could move away or draw her gun or do  _anything whatso-fucking-ever,_  Dipper had wrapped her up in a hug, thin arms holding her against his unnaturally hot body with more strength than should be possible.

Wendy's insides froze.

Her mind was screaming at her to do  _something._ To punch or kick or start firing or  _something_.

Another part of her, the dark part of her soul, wanted to hug him back.

_They had been laughing._

_Shooting pine cones at a target tapped onto a plastic totem pole._

_They had been watching the clouds pass by, along with many other long-forgotten friends._

_They had been laughing._

_They had been happy._

Wendy's limbs refused to move.

Wendy took in a sharp breath, the smell of the man-  _killer_ choking her.

He smelled of normal everyday soap mixed with the sharp iconic tang of blood.

It made her want to be ill once again.

His lips brushed her cheek in a mockery of a kiss, lips chap and full of cracks.

"Do you know why you are alone?" He whispered into her ear.

Wendy's eyes darted about.

"W-what do you mean?" She was finally able to spit out, voice cracking every which way.

He chuckled against her skin.

"C'mon, Wendy. Killer across the United States and they have  _one_ person working the case alone?" Dipper hissed.

Wendy, if possible, froze even more, dry-ice in her veins.

Everything was clicking into place.

He knew she was a detective.

He knew what cases she worked on.

He knew how her mind worked.

He had-had...

There hadn't been any real news coverage of the case

And little evidence was left at each crime.

Dipper- Dipper was more powerful than she had thought he'd be. Her words from long ago rang in her ears, true and ironic.

" _...seems_ really _dangerous."_

" _Isn't that an oxymoron or something?"_

"But it was all for nothing in the end, wasn't it?" Dipper snarled suddenly, pushing her away. "She didn't forgive me and you won't either, will you? I always asked, but you never responded, did you?"

Wendy stared at Dipper, not comprehending his train of thought. His dark eyes had an unstable edge to them, blown wide.

Wendy understood.

"Oh  _God_." she cried out, almost falling to the floor.

_'I'M SORRY.'_

It had been to her.

He had been apologizing to her as well.

The solved cipher felt as if it weighed tons in her pocket. Reaching a hand up, she yanked it out, nearly tearing the thin, cheap paper.

Dipper plucked the decoded message out of her hands quickly and took a glance at it. A look of anger, sadness, recognition, and- was that  _pride_ \- crossed his features.

Green flames sparked from Dipper's fingertips, snuffing the paper out.

"She didn't forgive me." He stated blankly.

Wendy shot him a confused look.

Mabel was dead.

It wasn't  _possible_ for her to forgive him.

However, the redhead did not say that. Did not mention anything about the young woman's demise in green flames.

"I don't forgive you either." She mumbled.

Dipper gave her an odd look.

"I know."

"See?" The Other whispered into his ear. "I told you this would happen!"

Dipper scowled at the demon, but did nothing more. How could he be angry at the being who showed him the  _truth?_ How could he be angry for a creature who took care of him for all these years?

Who helped him create a fake body and fake his death?

Who helped him pick out friends?

Who helped him with magic?

Who covered up all his crimes?

Who pulled a blanket over the eyes of nearly every American?

The answer was short: He couldn't.

"You never told me that." He snapped to the Other. "But...Well, I guess I had too much hope."

Wendy stared at Dipper once again, only hearing half the conversation he was having with himself.

"So what do we do now?" Dipper asked the Other, tears wetting his orbs.

What  _would_ he do now? What was there to do? Half the reason he did this disappeared and the other half stood in front of him, vision clouded and eyes lost.

The triangular demon's eye quirked up in a mockery of a grin. "How about I leave that up to you? There's only one way this will end, after all."

Dipper hung his head and turned away.

Wendy scowled at the man before her, pieces snapped into place, puzzle complete.

Everything that had happened...everything...

Dipper was insane.

There was no doubt about that now.

Not that there ever was to begin with, really.

"You- You..." Wendy growled, voice laced with anger.

She still didn't know what to feel about all of this.

But she knew what she had to do.

Wendy let her hand slide around the handle of the gun she had brought, cold metal shocking her skin.

Dipper looked up at her, locking the redhead in his gaze.

A gaze that said  _so_ much and  _so_ little at the same time.

His eyes wandered to where her hand laid and another gentle smile graced his lips; a complete clash of character.

Before she could draw the gun, or even really think, Dipper had her wrapped up in another agonizing hug.

"Wendy. We both know how this is going to end, don't we?" He whispered into her ear.

"You bleeding out on the ground, bastard!" She challenged.

He pretended like he never heard her response. "How about we play a game, one last time?"

Before Wendy could interject, Dipper continued on. "Remember when we'd visit each other during college? Mabel always wanted to play Chicken. She was really good at it too."

Wendy's blood froze in her veins as her arms locked up around his.

Something frigid, metallic, and circular pressed gently behind her ear.

She stared into his psychotic brown eyes, her own hand forced to point her gun up to his head.

"Well?" He murmured, reaching down to kiss her cheek lightly once again. "I wonder who the chicken will be."

The smell of soap and blood assaulted her nose as her mouth dried up even more than it already was.

The redhead couldn't tear her green eyes away from his brown ones, pressure from unshed tears building.

All it would take was a tap.

Dipper's eyes glowed under the sharp light he had created.

Just.

A.

Tap.

Wendy's mouth fell open slightly, all she could here was her heart in her chest. Now that she was here, now that this was happening, she felt left behind once more, not knowing how to react once again.

A twitch of the finger to bring justice.

She was paralyzed.

If Dipper wasn't helping holding the gun to his own head, Wendy wouldn't of had the strength to lift it up.

All it would take was a small tap.

It might not fix everything- no, it  _wouldn't_ fix anything.

Twenty people would still be dead.

And she would still be shattered.

Dipper's small smile grew wider, true and honest and  _innocent_.

Just a tap. All it would take.

A twitch of the fingers.

Just a tap.

Just a-

A single shot rang out.

~~0~~0~~0~~

_Zkb grq'w brx mxvw uhvw?_

~~0~~0~~0~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> And that's a wrap! Huge thanks to everyone who's left kudos and subscribed, and a massive, mega thanks to all who have left comments! You guys are really awesome and I'm glad you liked this so much!
> 
> This entire thing was a huge experiment for me. Believe it or not, I roughly based it off of the Twilight Zone and other stories in which case nothing is quite as it seems. I wanted to try and write in circles, be ambiguous as possible, but still have a full and enjoyable story and I do think I've succeeded in this.
> 
> The best part about writing all of this was the different interpretations I got. Like I said before, everyone infers something differently while reading this. While writing it, I myself had roughly four or five different interpretations. When my friends in real life read it, they had their own that were completely different than mine.
> 
> So, everyone who has read this and got this far, I only ask one thing from you: What is your interpretation? What did you, personally, get out of this? I really do want to know and I would love it if you told me in a comment. It would really make my day!
> 
> When I set out to write this, I wanted to make a dark!Dipper story like no other, one that didn't give you all the answers and one that wasn't about building up and the final Fall, but the fallout from those decisions and choices. I also did not want to have the story completely in Dipper's POV, but someone else, someone on the outside, aka Wendy. I also wanted to still have those beautiful mystery elements in the show that I'm pretty sure we all love.
> 
> I also wanted to test and see how far I could go writing torture and gore. I don't think I disappointed you.  
> This entire story was a roller coaster and I'm glad I was able to deliver it to all of you.
> 
> Once again, huge thank you to everyone who's read this, and who's reading it after it's been finished. You've all been a dream and I'm glad to produce something that you could enjoy. You are all awesome in every way and I do hope that you enjoyed this entire story.
> 
> Stay classy, folks and maybe I'll see you next time!


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